


They'll Be Peace

by Englandwouldfall



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angst, Cas is a rubbish bartender, Castiel Has Self-Esteem Issues, Daddy Issues, Dean Has Issues, Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean bringing Sam up, Eventual Romance, Eventually I mean, F/M, Family, John Winchester as a questionable father figure, M/M, Nearly everyone is broke, Slow Build, Teenage Sammy is cute, but he actually deals with them, character death (before story starts)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 02:53:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 38
Words: 165,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Englandwouldfall/pseuds/Englandwouldfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's six months since the car crash that killed their father, two months since the bank robbery he didn't mean to intervene in and about thirty seconds since Sam last bugged him about his feelings. There's the bills, the three jobs, the joke of his college attendance and keeping Sammy fooled by his game face.</p><p> And then there's Castiel, who's gonna be a frigging terrible bartender.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, so, ages... I changed the age gaps a bit to work (please forgive me) so Dean is 22 and Sam is 15.
> 
> WARNINGS. In this story Dean has a very low regard of his own life (especially in the beginning), and thus he does stupid risk takey things not caring whether or not bad things happen to him as a consequence. These issues are explored and stuff during the course of the story.
> 
> Also, John Winchester is portrayed in an unflattering light (particularly in the beginning of this story) so, if you're a John fan, pre-warning about that. He used to drink and not always be the best role model type figure, and in light of his death both Sam and Dean are kinda angry and working through things.

He's been itching to put the whole damn place in his review mirror for weeks, but Sammy's always wanted to settle down and stay put and that's something Dean can actually do. He can't bring back either of their parents, or get Sam a car, or guarantee Sammy's college fund (but damnit he's gonna try), but he can quit uprooting him every few weeks. He can guarantee that tiny slither of stability, which is more than his brother's ever had before. 

So, they've been back in Kansas for nearly six months – which is way longer than they've stayed anywhere since Sammy _was six months old_ – and, whilst it's near Bobby and Ellen and Sam's happy and settled, Dean spends half his life wanting to hit something. 

Not that Sammy knows about that. He's hiding how perturbing he finds the lack of movement from his little brother with tight smiles and the usual mildly-inappropriate jokes. Sam's near delirious over being in town long enough to join the mathletes and all the other stupid clubs he's been salivating over since Dean got them an apartment, so he hasn't noticed that Dean's probably drinking a little too much and not sleeping as well as he could. That's how it should be, though, because Sam's just a kid and he's had plenty of crap to deal with as of late. 

"I'm just saying, Dean," Sam says, directing a slight bitch face at the burger and fries Dean picked up on his way back from work, before apparently deciding it's not a battle worth fighting. "Maybe you should try _talking_ about it." 

It's about freaking typical that his little brother is the only fifteen year old who'd rather eat salad shakes and vegetables than real food, but that's an argument for just about every other day. Today, it seems, they've got a scheduled stop-trying-to-be-my-therapist-Sammy-argument, which is one of Dean's least favourite from the arsenal. 

"What d'you want me to say, Sammy?" Dean complains, pushing Sam's plate towards him, "I kicked ass. It's done." 

"Come on, Dean –" 

"– quit busting my ass," Dean interjects, picking one of his fries from his plates with a half grin, "I'll tell Bobby you're being a little bitch." 

"Jerk." 

"Eat your damn burger, Sammy." 

_"Sam,"_ Sam corrects, reluctantly reaching for his own burger. Dean's just about to breathe a sigh of relief over another successful deferral of that conversation, which his girly-little-brother just can't wait to have, when Sam pauses and sends him the puppy eyes. Jesus. "If you wanna talk about it, Dean, you know –" 

" – yeah, I know," Dean grins, "you're itching for a slumber party. I get it. I'm fine. There's nothing to say. I'm covering Jo's shift tonight." 

"What?" Sam asks, face falling into irritation. " _Again?_ " 

"Jo asked," Dean returns, but that's only half true and doesn't temper the guilt. He doesn't much like leaving Sam alone in the evenings, but if he picks up a couple of extra shifts and does Bobby a few favours, he might just be able to get Sammy a car for his sixteenth birthday. 

"Well, I thought we could watch a movie or something," Sam says, glancing back at their television with a damn near pout. Boy looks so crestfallen Dean's half tempted to call in sick, but Ellen's known him since birth and can tell when he's faking and Jo might actually kill him for ditching out on the favour. 

"Do your homework," Dean bites back, "we'll hang out tomorrow night, Sammy." 

"What about your homework?" 

"Christ, Sam," Dean complains. 

"You said you'd _try,"_ Sam says, bitch face reinstated, "you promised me you'd _try."_

The whole thing is stupid. 

Right before the car crash, Dad went on some weird kick where he seemed to regret drinking away their college funds and not really caring when Dean dropped out of high school, and started insisting that Dean should be going to college. Post-crash, Sam – who hadn't had a civil conversation with Dad in years – suddenly decided to take his word as law, near insisting that Dean enrol to do _something_ at the community college the minute they'd settled. 

"I'm _trying,"_ Dean says, "I still don't see the damn point, but I'm going to the damn classes –" 

"– some of them," Sam says, _"Some_ of them. And you've only read half your course books." 

"Well, I'm busy," 

"Yeah," Sam says, "working double shifts at the Roadhouse, and the diner, and Bobby's when you promised me you'd _try_ in school." 

Sam doesn't know all that much about the crap load of medical bills. He doesn't know that Dean is trying to scrap together the money to buy a car. He doesn't know that Dean is near killing himself over working so damn hard because Sam's got to go to a good college or Dean will have failed him… and he's not going to know, because Sammy's a damn fifteen year old kid who has enough to deal with without realising how tight money is. 

Anyway, it's partially Dean's fault. If he'd gotten a job right after the car crash, instead of wasting weeks rebuilding the Impala in Bobby's back yard (and taking a crow bar to it, just once), they'd be a bit more financially stable. Then, course, Dean had to get a job to prove to the authorities that he was more than capable of taking care of his kid brother… and now he'd got that sorted and settled, it was just a matter of picking up extra shifts and working his ass off till they have some savings again. 

So, Dean would rather take the nagging about college, which he will study for shortly – for Sam – but first he needs to sort out Sam's car. Then, he'll do the other stuff. 

"You're washing up," Dean says, standing up, "if you can reach the sink, short ass." 

"I'm fifteen, Dean." 

"Freaking baby. Can't way for you to grow the hell up," Dean says, but it's not really all that true because he's astounded at how quickly Sam's gotten old. It sort of sucks, because most fifteen year olds shouldn't have to deal with everything Sam's dealt with, but Dean still remembers that remarkable moment when Sam first started talking back, when he first started asking questions, when he first started complaining. He remembers with painful clarity the first time Sam ran away and it's terrifying that Sam's probably old enough to cut and run properly now. "And go to bed early, it's a school night." 

He reminds himself daily that Sam promised him – in one of those stupid emotional chats in the wake of their Dad's death, when Sam talked and talked whilst Dean pretended not to be crying underneath the Impala – that he wasn't going to. Sam wasn't running. 

"I hope Ellen keeps you till closing," 

"Bitch." 

"Jerk." 

Dean grins and reached for his keys. 

Things had been bad for a couple of years. The last few months trying to balance Dad and Sammy had been awful and he didn't have much good to say for the past few years, except that for some of the time they were all together. Maybe that wasn't enough for them, but it had been enough for Dean, and now that was gone. 

But, Sam was happy. Things had become more settled than Dean was comfortable with, but it was good for Sammy. They'd gotten to a state of normality Dean wouldn't have thought was possible. 

Maybe, just maybe, he could cope with sticking around a little longer. 

*

Ellen warns him ten minutes after he's arrived that there's a new guy she’s trying out tonight, which is pretty weird; Ellen's a stickler for keeping it in the family, so most of the people who work at the Roadhouse are some extension of a family friend, or a second cousin, or an ex-regular in need of a job. 

_New_ around the Roadhouse is a tad unprecedented. 

"Sam all right?" 

"Bitching about his lonely soul," Dean returns, setting up shop around the bar, "guess I can't blame the kid for missing me. I'm pretty awesome." 

Ellen smirks. 

"If this new guys any good you can clock off," Ellen says, passing him a beer, "get back to being a helicopter parent." 

"Who's the guy anyway?" 

"Castiel Novak," Ellen says, "student at the university." 

"Broke as fuck?" Dean asks. Ellen's a bleeding heart with a mothering instinct, so he's not really surprised that she might fall for a broke student begging for a job; she lets him work despite her 'best instincts' telling her Dean should be busting his ass over college, not bartending. When he asks for extra shifts she gives them to him even if it means she's overstaffed, but Dean tends not to mention it. If it was just his pride involved, it'd be different, but it's _Sammy_ he's gotta think about. 

"Seems it," Ellen says, "walks in all desperate blue eyes and, well, you can tell the kids been through some crap. Said I'd try him out. You got customers, Dean, go remind me why I'm paying you." 

"It's my pretty face and charm," Dean says, winking at one of the new customers. Ellen slaps the upside of his arm with an eye roll, before she disappears out back to go over some financial crap with Ash. Dean spends the next twenty minutes flirting with the blonde and getting a suitable tip for his efforts, before she disappears to go join her friends at her table. 

It's a slow night, which means Dean's got plenty of time to get bored and tired. It's all right when he's in motion, serving tables and drinks and chatting up chicks, but when he stops the tiredness seems to seep through from his bones. That's when all the thoughts come back; about the lack of money, about college, about Sammy, and Dad, and sometimes even his Mom, and then the bank robbery and – 

The door opens and a guy walks in that Dean doesn't recognise. Internally, he's explaining how much Dean has noticed the guy – because, yeah, he's staring – because of how obviously he doesn't fit in here. The Roadhouse's usual clientele are the slightly hardened seen-to-much types. He's used to seeing men wearing leather jackets and pissed off expressions. There's no trouble actually in the Roadhouse, because Ellen just wouldn't stand for it, but they're the kind of people who aren't really strangers to the concept. 

And this guy's wearing a freaking _trench coat_ which, by the way, he keeps on as he walks purposefully towards the bar. 

"You ordering a drink?" Dean asks, doubtful, as the guy _stares_ at him. Trenchcoat doesn't answer, but keeps staring, which stirs up something uncomfortable in Dean's gut. 

The whole _thing_ happened two months ago and he would have thought people might have gotten over it by now. Yeah, his picture was plastered over all the local press (and a couple of national newspapers) and they keep saying he saved a bunch of people's lives, but now the perks have worn off Dean can't stand the staring. 

He ripped the newspaper cutting (the one where Dean was described as 'heroic' and 'patriotic' much to the amusement of Sam, Ellen and Jo) off from behind the bar a month after it had been placed there and the others got the hint to just _not mention it._ Except Sammy, of course, who's still desperate to be his personal therapist. _Maybe if you just talked about it, Dean._

"You want to take a picture, Trenchcoat?" Dean asks, voice unnecessarily aggressive. 

The man doesn't even blink. 

It's then, Dean registers the blue eyes. 

"Why would I –?" 

"– Winchester here made the papers a few months back," Ellen says, stepping back into the bar, "and now he's paranoid and moody. This is Castiel, Dean," 

He doesn't look like he's been through crap to Dean. He looks like every other rich-boy student and that kinda pisses him off. They all have that knack of acting broke without understanding what it's like to not be able to buy food. It's probably because he hates feeling inferior and the college types always seem to oppose inferiority on him. Basically, Castiel Novak looks like a dick. 

"Don't look much like bar material," 

"Which is why you're showing him the ropes," Ellen says. 

"Hello, Dean," Castiel says, and his voice is rough and deep and _not_ what Dean was expecting at all. The fact that his voice is gravelly and all kinds of bad ass doesn't change the fact that he's the last person Dean really wants to be dealing with, but Ellen's already abandoning him. 

"You know how to pull a pint?" 

"I understand the logistics." 

"Right," Dean says, "the logistics. Well, let's see that in practice, then." 

"It is not a complicated process," Castiel says, serious as anything. 

So, naturally, it takes four attempts to produce something that Dean would consider drinking; and Dean is pretty much an anything-goes type when it comes to beer. 

*

It's two parts frustration and two parts amusement, but _God_ Castiel Novak is definitely from a different planet. "No, Cas," Dean says, "You can't change the barrel like that, you just, you gotta, here…" 

And then he's showing him. Castiel seems to pick it up when Dean actually _shows him_ but is apparently absolutely hopeless with verbal instructions. It's also pretty obvious that the guy has probably never set foot in a bar before, because he doesn't seem to understand anything about them. 

Just twenty minutes ago, Dean had caught Castiel just stood at the bar staring at two girls in one of the booths. He had his head titled into this bizarre expression of bewilderment and when prompted, he'd just said _'I don't understand why the girl doesn't just approach the gentleman in the striped shirt, if she's so interested in sleeping with him.'_

Dean had nearly choked on his own saliva. Then, he was laughing and he'd be damned if he remembered the last time he'd done that _properly._

It had taken just under an hour for Dean to conclude that he hadn't got a hope in hell of going home early, and about an hour and a half until he started having a really good time. 

"So, I bet you study something really nerdy?" Dean prompts, cleaning a dirty glass and watching Castiel's gaze travels round the Roadhouse's (gradually thinning) customers. 

"Languages," Castiel offers, "modern and ancient." 

"Huh," Dean says, "so you can pick up chicks in every language?" Castiel's gaze shifted from the rest of the bar and back onto Dean (who was unwillingly become used to the guys staring habit already). "Teach me some swearwords. How d'you say fuck off in Spanish?" 

"Vete a la mierda," 

"Awesome," Dean grins, "how do you say...go to bed, you freaking baby?" Castiel gives him a look that suggests that's a pretty strange thing to be asking about, which Dean guesses is about right. "I got his little brother. He's doing a Spanish class and geeks-out over all this stuff." 

"Try _yo soy un imbécil._ " 

"Right," Dean says, "Sammy will probably piss his pants." 

"He pass your test, Dean?" Ellen asks, stepping out of the back with Ash and Jo this time. 

"Yeah," Dean says, "Cas ain’t as bad as he looks." 

"A ringing endorsement from Dean Winchester," Jo says, pulling herself up a chair, "you must be so pleased, Castiel." 

She sounds pretty irritated, so there's a high chance that her date when down the pan. Dean's not really all that surprised because Jo is hot, but could totally eat all guys her age alive and he doesn't really see them going for the girl with the gun-collection. It's dumb, because Jo's awesome, but really not a big shock. 

"You be polite, Joanna Beth," Ellen instructs, "now, Castiel, you just gotta pass the Harvelle test –" 

" – oh, come on," Dean interrupts, glancing at Castiel feeling pretty worried. Yeah, Cas's arrival probably pulled Dean out of his own personal hell which probably helped twist Dean's opinion of him… but he's hilarious and brutally honest all by accident, which Dean thinks he can total dig. He's had one of the most enjoyable shifts for months (since before the incident) and he definitely wants Cas to stick around. 

That's kind of worrying all by itself, because Dean doesn't form attachments to people all that easily. Usually, he likes a person if they do something dumb like say 'okie dokie,' or drive a sweet car, or whatever … but it's all pretty superficial and passing. He doesn't waste thoughts on people too much, but somehow Cas has gotten under his skin in the space of a single shift. 

And he's sure as shit not gonna pass the Harvelle test. 

"The guy wears a freaking trench coat," Dean complains, "you can't make someone in a holy tax accountant get up attempt your stupid test, Ellen." 

"What is it?" Castiel asks. 

"You gotta drink one of us under the table," Ellen grins, placing a bottle of tequila down on the bar. Dean stomach turns over because he's not quite over his last run in with tequila, which had also been all Ellen's fault. "Your pick." Castiel turns his gaze towards Dean, questioning. 

"Don't look at me, Cas, I'm driving," Dean says, "besides, you haven't got a hope in hell on that account. And don't pick Ash. He might already smell like the backside of a brewery, but that doesn't mean he ain't got another half a bottle in him… and don't take on Jo, cause she'll beat your ass and then Ellen'll eat you alive for getting her underage daughter drunk." 

"Which leaves me," Ellen says. 

"Yeah," Dean says, glancing back at Castiel, "which means our resident nerd is screwed. Nice knowing you, Cas." 

"Since Dean likes you so much," Ellen says, "I'm prepared to do you a deal. You impress me, Novak, you're hired for good." 

"That's even worse," Dean complains, but he's pulling out the shot glasses anyway. "Ellen ain't easily impressed." He lines up four, because he thinks any more than that and Castiel will probably just die. He gets out the lime and the salt and balks at Castiel's confused expression. "You ever drunk Tequila?" 

Castiel looks at him in a way that clearly says _no Dean_ and after thirty seconds of staring at him and wondering _how_ (before reminding himself about the trench coat), he turns to Ellen and Jo for support. Obviously, that doesn't really work out. 

"You came in your car, Cas?" 

"If you can call it that," Jo snorts, pouring herself a shot of tequila. 

"I'll give you a lift home," Dean sighs, passing Jo a lime wedge. 

"This is how it goes, Cas," Jo says. Jo-plus-alcohol is a weird phenomenon, because she's technically underage (only by a few months, as Jo likes to remind him)and fifty percent of the time Ellen likes to remind her of the fact… then occasions like this happen, and she takes a Tequila shot like a pro and Ellen usually seems pretty proud. 

They've already called last orders, so there's just a bunch of the regulars finishing their last drinks, who are all too happy to migrate over to watch the new bartender be broken in the proper Harvelle way. Some of them are probably taking bets. 

Castiel puts the salt on the back of his hand slightly awkwardly, but then he's a walking bag of awkward, as Dean pours the four shots with a feeling of trepidation. 

The first one is pretty painless. Castiel seems to have barely tasted the Tequila, and Dean's pretty impressed considering it's his first time with the damnable stuff. Shot number two, three and four are all tackled in much the same systematic way, till they're all empty. 

Then he looks up at Ellen. 

"Not quite, kiddo," Ellen says, "pour them again, Dean." 

"Jesus," Dean mutters, pouring another four with a grimace. He reaches for another lime and is about to start cutting it into wedges, when Castiel bursts into motion; number five goes down, neat, then six, and the shot glass gets placed the wrong way up, then seven and eight. 

It takes about thirty seconds for all four to be drank and at least twice as long as that before any of them are capable of speaking. 

"It's not the end of the world, kid," Ellen says, blinking. 

"I think I'm starting to feel something," Castiel says, looking down at the shot glasses before looking up at Dean again. Dean's jaw is slightly slack and _yeah_ that was freaking awesome. 

"I like him," Jo says, decisively. 

"Yeah, well, let's leave the angel alone now," 

Every single eye in the room turns to face Dean for a second before he releases quite what he said. Jo looks like she's about to laugh out loud and Ellen's biting back a proper grin. Ash had only just been paying attention to them as opposed to his mad computer, but he's certainly paying attention now. 

_"Angel?"_

"My name is angelic," Castiel interjects, "I am named after the angel of Thursdays." 

Dean swallows. Although the others are probably just going to assume Dean asked and Cas told him that stuff about his name, it's bad enough that Cas knows he didn't. 

In his defence, he was going through some bad shit. Sam always had all this faith in _the good_ and he used to pray pretty much every night (which he thinks Dean doesn't know about). Then Dad died and he was _desperate_ and he picked up the freaking bible because _he didn't know what else to do._ And yeah, he came out the other end deciding that even if there was a God he was an asshole, but wound up picking an interest in the old mythologies. 

Since, he'd read a book on Norse Gods and came to the conclusion that it must _suck_ to be a female Norse God. He'd read about the Greek Gods and decided they were all a massive bag of dicks. And he'd read about angels, because it turned out they were bad ass _warriors_ of God rather than the hallmark cherub crap. 

"Right," Jo says, "obviously," 

"Well, did he pass your test?" 

"If he doesn't throw up before closing," Ellen says, "you got yourself a job, Cas." 

"You ever had a job before, Cas?" 

"No," Castiel returns, still sat very still on his bar stool, "have you?" 

"Oh Dean's worked everywhere," Jo puts in, "restaurants, diners, bars, strip joints…" 

"You _wish_ I was a stripper, Joanna Beth." 

"Drop the full name, Winchester," Jo returns, "and I like my men a little classier." 

"Trenchcoat here's probably drunk enough by now," Dean says, and then Jo throws a tea towel at him and Dean's grinning. There'd been five years when his Dad had fallen out with Ellen and Jo, so until the funeral he hadn't seen either of them for years… so, it was a bit of a shock when Jo was suddenly twenty and sort of gorgeous, instead of just a kid. And he'd totally have tried it on if he wasn't terrified of Ellen (and Jo) and absolutely not interested in anything at all at the time. 

It's better like this though. He likes the banter with Jo. He's glad there's minimal risk of him really fucking it up and her getting mad at him. 

"Seems more interested in you, _Dean,"_ Jo says, quiet enough that Cas can't hear, before she swaggers out back and leaves them to it. 

Dean glances back at Castiel and, yup, the guy's still staring at him. Although, given circumstances, it's frankly a miracle the guy can even sit without falling over. 

"I can close up if you want to take your _angel_ home," Ash says with a wink. 

He's gonna be getting it in the neck for that comment until he's walking with a stick. 

"Cas, you good to move?" Dean asks. There's only one guy left in the Roadhouse now and Ash can definitely handle him, so… "Right, let's head off." 

They're out the door when he sees the _monstrosity_ which seems to be Cas' car, "Jo wasn't kidding, huh," Dean mutters, leading Castiel to the Impala, "Cas, meet my baby, baby…meet Cas." 

On the drive home, which turns out not to be too far outside Dean's way, Cas makes him laugh exactly seven times completely by accident. He's not half as drunk as Dean thinks he probably should be, but he figures maybe the Tequila hasn't hit him yet. 

He's still pretty worried, so he walks Cas right up to his door… and if he leaves Cas his number, it's only because he wants Cas to inform him he's still alive tomorrow morning. 

Sam's thankfully asleep when he gets in. Dean scribbles a note and leaves it on his bedside table before crawling to bed. It's one of the first nights for ages he's slept without drinking first. 

_Sammy,_

 _Yo soy un imbécil._

 _

Don't wake me up till five minutes before you need a lift to school. Exhausted. 

Ps. New guy at the RH

_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So THE THING is this is the first time I've attempted to write any SPN fanfiction and... it's also the first time I've written any fanfiction for a non English-fandom and all the American slang and such in dialogue is freaking me out. I've only used most of this stuff verrrryyy ironically IRL, so I'm pretty scared this whole thing is a pile of crap. So PLEASE let me know if I'm way off-base, or trying to hard, or if it's just plain terrible... because it's new and scary. I didn't even register how English I was until starting.
> 
> Now I'm going to go console myself with a cup of tea.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam wakes him up much too early for Dean’s liking, but he comes bearing coffee and he’s grinning like an idiot so it’s not all bad. 

“Best be a double shot in that coffee,” Dean mutters, pulling himself into a sitting position. 

“Got back late?” 

Dean’s not awake enough to do the maths and he knows it’s probably not gonna make him feel any better, anyway. Despite leaving at closing – or near enough – and taking a detour to drop Castiel off, he still got more sleep than normal. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “you done all your homework, Sammy?” 

“Yes, Dean,” Sam returns with an eye roll, “And if you don’t get your ass out of bed in the next five minutes, we’re gonna be late.” 

“You’re gonna be late,” Dean corrects, “I’m gonna be somewhere eating pancakes,” 

_“Deaan,”_

“Quit whining, I’m up,” Dean says, pulling himself out of bed with a grimace. 

It takes an average of five minutes to get Dean from bed to the front seat of the Impala, but on this particular morning it takes more like seven. Normally, that means he’s accompanied by Sam’s best bitch-face until Dean’s picked up enough time that there’s no real danger of him being late, but today he’s still grinning when they pull out the parking lot. 

“What are you so happy about?” 

“What?” Sam asks. 

“You,” Dean says, casting a glance over at him at the crossing, “you look like you just won a textbook or something.” 

“Can’t I just be happy?” 

“Well, yeah,” Dean says, “but not about going to school, man, it’s not natural.” 

“I like school,” 

“High school sucks,” 

“So this new guy at work?” 

“Castiel,” Dean says, “uni student. Great big nerd like you.” 

“And he gave you the Spanish in the note you left me?” 

“Yeah. And?” 

“Dean,” Sam grins, “did you not think that _‘imbécil’_ sounded a little like imbecile?” 

Dean nearly swerves. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mutters, thinking of Castiel’s entirely stoic expression as he offered the phrase to Dean. So, he’d been duped. Worse, duped by a trench coat wearing language student who didn’t know you were supposed to drink Tequila with lime and salt. _Fuck._

Sam’s outright laughing and doesn’t look like he’s gonna stop any time soon. It does, at least, explain away his brother’s shit eating grin. 

“I can’t believe you fell for that,” 

“I was _tired.”_

“So, you like Castiel?” 

“I did,” Dean mutters, darkly, and Sam starts laughing all over again. 

“Come on, Dean,” Sam grins as they finally pull up in front of his school, “you gotta admit that’s pretty impressive.” Dean doesn’t answer. “What hours you working today?” 

“Ten till four at the diner,” Dean says, “then I got the evening off for movie night.” 

“You have a science credit class at two,” Sam says, eyes narrowing slightly. 

“I have a lunch break, Sam,” 

“It takes fifteen minutes to get there,” 

“I’ll talk to Pamela, sort something out.” 

“Can’t you work later?” 

“No,” Dean says, “because then I’m late picking you up from your nerd-fest, shortstack.” 

“I could go to a friend’s place,” Sam says, and Dean turns to look at him properly. 

“You wanna go to a friend’s place?” 

“No, Dean, I’m just saying –” 

“- you wanna go hang out with one of your friends, you go hang out with one of your friends.” 

“Dean,” Sam complains, “you’re not listening to what I’m saying.” 

“Because it’s boring, Sam. This conversation ain’t making anyone any happier. I’ll make the science class and I’ll be here to pick you up from wherever you’re gonna be.” 

“Can we talk about this later?” 

“We got five minutes. You wanna talk about it, we can talk about it now.” 

“You’re a dick before you’ve had breakfast,” Sam says, “and I’m testing you about class later.” 

“I bet you are,” Dean grumbles, “have a shitty day, bitch.” 

“Enjoy your pancakes,” Sam says, pushing open the door. Dean watches him for a moment feeling like one of those a-grade-dick parents who never leave fast enough… but, it’s not often he gets to watch Sam be happy with kids his own age. He’s enfolded into a group within a couple of seconds and, yeah, it’s nice to see him actually have friends. After he started high school, the fact that they stayed a max of a month or two at each school meant Sam just about gave up bothering to talk to people. Dean had done the same, sure, but Sam was supposed to be the social one… now, he’s settled in properly. It’s nice. 

He’s kind of dreading the day Sam asks if he can invite a friend over, or whatever, because then Dean’s got to accept that Sam actually has a life of his own. It’s hella selfish, but sometimes he misses the days when it was just the two of them against the world. 

He calls Bobby on the way to the Diner. 

“Bobby, am I dick before breakfast?” 

“And before breakfast and dinner, y’a idjit,” Bobby returns, “you ever coming into work, boy?” 

“Hell yeah,” Dean says, “You need me on Saturday?” 

Bobby’s backyard mechanic business has always been Dean’s favourite job. He feels right when he’s taking apart a car and piecing her back together again, under the hood, hands covered in grease. Problem is, ever since he learned how to flirt he pulls more in in tips than he can working for Bobby and, besides, Bobby doesn’t need him full time. Still, it’s shitty that the hours he puts in at the diner takes away from his time at Bobby’s. 

“I got a car that needs fixing up. Been bashed up real good, but I reckon you could get her running. And with your idjit brother’s birthday…” 

“Bobby,” Dean grins, “Bobby, you’re _awesome._ She good enough for my little brother?” 

“She ain’t no Impala,” 

“Well, no one competes with baby,” 

“But I think you’ll like her. And I ain’t payin’ you no labour.” 

“Yeah, okay, old man.” 

“And that’s your Christmas present, too,” Bobby grumbles, “and you better get on with it, boy, I ain’t having her clogging up my garage till you think you got enough time to stop by.” 

It’s all a front, because Bobby would hold onto the car if Dean needed him too. And, come Christmas, Dean is pretty freaking sure Bobby’ll pass him over a bottle of decent whiskey and a ‘don’t drink it all at once, ya’idjit,’ but Bobby’s grumpy by definition. 

“I’ll come over tomorrow,” Dean grins. He can talk to Ellen, maybe. He’s got Sammy all day Saturday and there’s no way he can come to Bobby’s and work on the car with Sam there, but if he plays the shift-swapping game he should able to work out a way for it to be possible. And if he’s not paying for a car, then he’s saving enough to make it worth it. 

Bobby hangs up. 

Dean’s about to shove his phone back in his pocket, when he realises he’s got a new message. 

_I am alive. Thank you for the ride. Castiel._

He’d forgotten about the impulsive giving-Cas-his-number-business, but he doesn’t regret it. 

He didn’t really mean to instantly forgive Cas for the whole Spanish incident, but the message makes him grin without his permission. Actually, it’s kind of awesome that Castiel is both a nerdy trench coat-wearing language student _and_ a total bad ass at drinking Tequila and tricking Dean into calling himself an imbecile. The guy’s named after an _angel_ and has one of the most commanding voice’s he’s ever heard. He’s got no sense of humour and is somehow frigging hilarious. He dresses like a professor but has at least semi-permanent sex hair. 

He gets to the diner early enough to get his free breakfast. 

_Glad to hear it, Cas. How’s the hangover?_

The only reason he gets his free breakfast is because it’s thanks to his sweet ass that half the regulars come on a regular basis; it’s near enough the college that plenty of the students come in a lot, and he’s the cute waiter that winks and flirts. Most of them can’t tip much cause they’re students, but it adds up. 

_I have a headache. I understand this is customary._

Dean half wants to laugh, but instead takes another sip of his coffee. 

It doesn’t matter how many customers Dean brings in, Pam’s not gonna let him take an hour and a half lunch break. He can probably swing a full hour as he’s taking it late, but either way he’s gonna be early or late for class. And he’s not gonna get any food, so he better enjoy breakfast while he can. 

He can grab them a pizza on the way back from picking up Sammy, or else they can order one, and he’ll get one with vegetables on to please Sam (because he really doesn’t have time for cooking and crap right now, but _as soon_ as they have some savings Sam can have all the vegetables he likes – providing he keeps them as far away from Dean as possible) and they’ll marathon watch Star Wars and it’ll be awesome. 

_Suggest aspirin, coffee + a double cheeseburger_

He’s probably gonna fall asleep during Star Wars, because he only got about four hours sleep last night, but he’s pretty sure Sam’s gonna appreciate the effort. 

_I can rec a good diner_

He saves Castiel’s number onto his phone and texts him the name of Pam’s Diner, just because he feels like it. 

0o0 

He’s not really expecting Cas to listen to him or take his suggestions seriously, but he turns up looking stiff and awkward in his trench coat just as the lunch time rush is starting. He’s carrying a stack full of books and looks like he might smite anyone who makes too much noise, which would probably actually be pretty terrifying given the walking enigma Cas seems to be. 

“On the house,” Dean says as he delivers him a coffee, “although you gotta pay for a burger if you’re having one.” 

“Dean,” Cas says, looking at him slightly blearily. 

“Morning, Princess,” Dean grins, “those neat Tequila shots still seeming like a good plan?” 

“I got the job.” Dean’s not gonna be the one to tell him that Ellen probably would have given him the job anyway, because that’s all kinds of cruel. Maybe when his apparent hangover has worn off slightly. “You work here.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “so, that cheeseburger?” 

Castiel nods. 

He’d like to linger round his table for a bit, but it’s pretty freaking busy. There’s a bunch of the regular girls who’ll probably forgive him for the lack of the attention, but there’s a group of new university kids that look like they could be big tippers (a full set of branded clothes and new textbooks, unlike the standard second hand textbooks most kids have got). 

“You work very hard, Dean,” Castiel says when Dean eventually brings over his burger. 

Dean’s been breaking his back working since he was allowed to, and he doesn’t need anyone to thank him for that. There’s nothing _special_ about holding down three jobs just so he can pay the bills, because he’s gotta do it for Sam. If Dean hadn’t been able to prove that he was capable of looking after his brother, he’d be with some stupid foster family or some shit like that. If Dean hadn’t been making sure they were fed for years, the CPS would have gotten involved ages ago. 

He doesn’t do anything remarkable. He flirts his way into most of the cash he earns and he’s not good for much but serving out food and fixing cars, so he’s gotta look after Sammy to prove he’s worth something. That’s just the way it is. 

It’s pretty strange to have someone – particularly a smart ass guy like Castiel – acknowledge that what he does isn’t exactly easy. 

“It’s no languages degree,” Dean says, “or else I might not have told Sammy I was an imbecile this morning.” 

“Language student perk,” Castiel says, with a small smile, before his expression turned serious again, “do not belittle yourself, Dean.” 

It’s pretty frigging weird that he met the guy yesterday and now he’s delivering him life advice, but yet here they are. The weirdest bit is it doesn’t _feel_ weird, but he’s not a teenage girl so she’s not gonna dwell on that. 

“Hey, I’m the one wrangling for a tip here,” Dean says, “stop stealing my lines, Cas.” 

He leaves with a wink and doesn’t have a chance to talk to Castiel again, but Jamie tells him later that he tipped him twenty dollars. He’s not really sure what to make of the whole thing and winds up thinking about his weird staring habit all through the forty minutes of his lecture he actually makes. 

Right between A New Hope and The Empire Strikes back, he fails Sam’s science test. 

He really doesn’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter becausee that means I can mess around with chapter boundaries and then actually update some more before I go on holiday. AAaa. There's so many things I should be doing right now but no regrets


	3. Chapter 3

Occasionally, when Dean works the earlier shift at the Roadhouse he brings Sam along. 

They've been hanging around the Roadhouse since they were both tiny and he'd rather be able to watch Sam then leave him alone in the apartment all day. He's working three till eight, which is a pretty stupid shift… but Ellen probably didn't need him in at all, so he's taking what he can get. 

Normally, half the slightly hardened regulars start spouting emotional tales about when they were kids and usually end up buying his brother a day's supply of soda and food whilst Sam does his homework. Or else, Sam sits at the bar chatting to him in between customers. It's probably not the top way a fifteen year old would like to spend their Saturday, but there's not much he can do about that. And Sam doesn't complain, ever, which is one of the reasons why Sammy's so awesome. 

"Cas," Dean says, calling him over, "this is my little brother, Sammy –" 

"- Sam," 

"– and he's a little geek too," Dean finishes, ruffling up his hair on purpose (which makes Sam cringe away from him and roll his eyes), "emphasis on _little,_ shortstack." 

"He's on the edge of a growth spurt," Ellen adds, "you watch yourself, Dean, he'll catch up with you." 

"And he'll still be a little girl. Sam was wandering if you could check over his Spanish verbs in his love notes or something." 

"– Dean," Sam frowns, "will you quit it?" 

"My older brothers are also very embarrassing," Castiel says, nodding at Sam, "I can check your verbs whilst the bar is empty, if that's okay with Ellen." 

Sam looks at Ellen, expression eager. Ellen exchanges a look with Dean, which Dean take to mean 'your brother is real cute' which is also true. The damnable puppy eyes and stupid hair cut cover the worse of his sins. 

"Who am I to stand in the way of your education?" Ellen asks. 

"Thanks!" Sam grins, "Dean says you're _super_ smart –" 

Cas turns to look at him, expression evidentially amused. Dean finds one hand going distractedly to his hair in mild embarrassment. Yeah, Dean told Sam about Cas, but he certainly didn't say 'super smart' and he certainly wasn't such a girl about it. 

"– I'll leave you to your geek-date," Dean says, offering Jo a mildly inappropriate wink (whilst Ellen's looking the other way) before heading behind the bar. It's a Saturday, which means it'll be busy later, but it's early enough that there's only a few of the very dedicated regulars in… and Cas is on shift, and Jo _isn't_ till later but she's hanging around all the same, which means it's probably going to be a really good day. 

"Beer, please," Jo says, pulling up a bar stool opposite him. 

"The day your Mom takes a road trip to Alaska, I'll get you a beer," 

"Like you've never snuck Sammy a drink," Jo grins, glancing over at the booth where Sam and Castiel are sat. Sammy looks pretty delighted to have stumbled upon someone as _super smart_ as Castiel, whereas Castiel has that time old expression of concentration; there's something quite nice about seeming them together. 

"I'm not hella scared of Sam's guardian," Dean says, fairly, "and besides, Sam's such a girl he probably drinks Martinis." 

"Mom lets me drink," 

"I'm sure she does, sweetheart." 

"Screw you, Dean," Jo says, but she's smiling, "So Sam really is a geek, huh?" 

"College boy in the making," Dean says, "you gonna deliver my geek-brother a coke for me?" 

"Hell no," Jo returns, "I'm not working till eight." 

Dean huffs a laugh and pours his brother a coke, stepping out from behind the bar to deliver it himself. 

"Castiel," Sam says, excitedly, as he takes the coke, "do you do French, too?" 

"Why?" Castiel asks, "Do you have French verbs to congregate?" 

"No," Sam says, and Dean feels his stomach turn over, "Dean's doing some classes at the community college and he's got some French credits and maybe you could help him?" 

"I wasn't aware that you were at college, Dean." 

Yeah, Dean hadn't mentioned that. Actually, he tries to pretend it's not happening when he's not actually at college, because he doesn't like it. He doesn't fit in and he feels stupid the whole time and he's only doing it because Sam wants him to. 

He glances back to Jo for support, but Jo's just turned around in her chair and is watching them curiously. 

"Yeah," Sam says, "He works at Bobby's, and here, and at the diner and then he's doing a course at the community college. Dean is really smart too." 

"I'm a high school dropout, Sam," Dean interrupts, ready to turn and walk away from the conversation (because Cas is looking at him again, as though he can see his soul and his whole history in his eyes, which is like… hella uncomfortable and pretty normal at the same time). 

"That wasn't your fault!" Sam says, loudly. 

"Sam," Dean complains, turning back around with a grimace, "stop it." 

"It _wasn't,_ " Sam says, "you were working two jobs and –" 

_"– Sam."_

"– and we hadn't really eaten in two days and –" 

That's not really true. _Sam_ hadn't had a meal in two days, yeah, but Dean was nearly at five. And it wasn't like they didn't have food, because they did; they'd had bread and a couple of packets of chips, but that didn't really cut it. He'd found it pretty damn difficult to sit through a stupid science lesson when he knew that Sam had to be freaking starving, and he'd been near failing anyway, so it made sense… 

"– you don't know anything about it, Sam –" 

" – and Dad stole your _emergency_ emergency money to buy whiskey and – " 

"– he didn't steal anything, Sammy, he asked for it and –" 

"– AND it wasn't your responsibility!" Sam half yells, "Dean's been looking after me for forever," Sam tells Cas, "but he's _really_ smart." 

Dean's face is burning. He's pretty aware that Jo and Ellen are watching (and, sure, they're practically family, but Dean certainly didn't ring them up whining every time things got bad, and Dad fell out with them about five years ago… so they don't know about half the stuff that went on) and he's _hyper-aware_ that Cas is staring holes into his skin. 

The silence in the Roadhouse is palpable. 

"You trying to set me and Cas up or something?" Dean asks, "Because, I don't know if I mentioned this, Sam, but I'm not really that sort of guy." 

"Shut up," Sam returns, "He's trying to diffuse the tension with some stupid joke," Sam tells Cas, "he does that when he doesn't want to talk about something." 

"I could help you with French," Castiel says. 

"It's fine," Dean tells Cas, their eyes locked in some silent conversation Dean's not sure he can interpret. 

"You're failing French," Sam says, "I saw your assignment." 

"It wouldn't be a problem." Cas says, both of them ignoring Sam. 

"I'm not really the college type." 

"You _promised_ you'd try," Sam pouts, "you promised me." Cas tilts his head at him slightly, as if trying to work him out. Dean was going to say something to Sam, but he's sort of forgotten where he was going with that thought, and… "Fine!" Sam complains, "I'll leave you two to your little moment." 

Dean jerks himself out of his impromptu staring competition with Castiel, dragging his gaze back to his little brother feeling embarrassed. A quick glance at Castiel is enough to show that Cas doesn't share the sentiment; he's as unflappable and stoic as ever. 

"Well, I'm never taking you to work again," Dean says, shaking his head and heading back to the bar, "and Cas doesn't want to know our autobiography, Sam, so quit this sharing is caring crap." 

"Dean isn't very good at dealing with his emotions," Sam says, cheerfully, "he's emotionally constipated. It's probably all the burgers." 

"Jesus Christ," Dean mutters. Jo's outright laughing at him and Ellen is grinning, but Castiel still has that stare-y expression on. "Sam used to want to be a ballet dancer," 

"That isn't even true," Sam says, "Dean once sold his mobile phone so I could go on a school trip." 

"Sammy got a Barbie doll for Christmas," 

"Because Dean stole the next door neighbours Christmas presents without opening them," Sam says, "because Dad disappeared and he couldn't buy me anything." 

"Sam once ate six boxes of lucky charms." 

"Dean stood up his first girlfriend to go to my parents evening." 

"You're so gonna get it, Sam," Dean says, "you little bitch," 

"Jerk." 

"Short ass," 

"So," Jo grins, "what did this girlfriend do?" 

"She wrote a lot of stuff on the bathroom walls," Sam says, happily, "It wasn't very flattering." 

"Yeah, well, it's not like you've ever gone near a girl, Sammy, so… hey, wait a second, short ass, I know that look. You got some secret girlfriend you never told me about?" 

Sam mumbles something. 

"In California?" Dean asks, "That's what you were doing in California?" 

California was the longest he'd ever lost Sam for. It was the summer holidays, so Sam hadn't had to worry about people wondering why he wasn't in school. He'd ditched his phone. Dad had refused to help look for him until the month mark, but then they were back on the road searching for him together… and they had found him, eventually, but it had to be one of the worst nights of his life. 

"I also had a dog," Sam says, quietly. 

"Jesus," Dean mutters, because what do you say to that? His then fourteen year old brother had ran away and found a girlfriend and a dog, whilst Dean had spent the entire time freaking the fuck out and not sleeping. 

He's saved by the entry of a couple of customers, which means he's got ten minutes of solid flirting to distract himself from Sam spilling family secrets in front of _Castiel_ and the way Cas doesn't even seem surprised about the world of crap he's dealt with. 

The few customers who came into turned into a stream, so Castiel leaves Sam with his books and join Dean behind the bar. 

"I will help you with French, Dean," Castiel says, a little too close to really adhere to social boundaries and a little too serious for the given situation. 

"All right, Cas," Dean says. The words lodge in his throat and don't come out as smoothly as he'd like, but Cas knows so little of social etiquette that it hardly seems like it matters. 

The rest of the night is spent with Jo making jokes about his girlfriend so that they don't have to talk about the other stuff Sam bought up, Castiel being silent and a little uncomfortable, while Sam does his work and carries on teasing him. 

He's not gonna bring up how much he likes having everyone all in the same room, cause he's not some doe-eyed teenage girl… but work is so much better when Sam's there. Even when he's got his nose in a book and isn't saying anything, the reassurance of his presence makes him relax a bit. He's there, he's safe and he's happy (or near enough). He's selfish enough that he wishes Sam didn't have to go to school and instead could just hang out with him all day, and he's absolutely terrified of the day Sam fucks off to college and never talks to him again. 

Cas is watching him, so Dean throws his dishcloth over his shoulder and winks. 

Gotta keep his game face up.


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel suggested doing French on Monday morning. 

Dean figured the guy's probably as busy as hell, so he spent thirty minutes sweet talking Pamela into letting him have Monday off. He's got a couple of classes on Monday anyway which meant Sam was grinning for thirty minutes straight when he eventually got it sorted. He's probably not gonna tell Sammy that he's gonna be spending the rest of the day at Bobby's, because he knows full well he's gonna throw a bitch-fit. 

He's itching to get under a car, anyway. 

He turns up at some fancy-ass coffee place – which once ago throws up the question of ' _is Cas actually broke?'_ – and Castiel is already there, and he's bought him the right coffee. He's looking as awkward as usual with his trench coat on inside and a stack of books next to him, and the fact that he looks just as out of place as Dean feels makes him feel slightly better. 

"Look, man," Dean says, sitting down, "I'm really only sticking the college thing out so Sam gets off my ass, so if you can't teach me then…" 

"Why does Sam want you to study?" Castiel asks. 

"Oh," Dean says, because it's been a long time since anyone asked about his life. He barely talks to anyone at college on account of only just attending and, besides, he's never really had friends. His social circle extends entirely to Ellen, Bobby, Jo and Sammy. He's not about to start spouting his life story to any of them, because they already know the gist of it, and he's hardly going to explain the whole messy ordeal to any of the girls he occasional hooks up with. "Well, huh, I guess you picked up from Sam that… I looked after him a bit." 

It's a reasonable question for Castiel ask. There are a lot of reasonable questions to ask about Dean's situation. Why he's twenty one and has been supporting his little brother since he could bluff his way into paid employment and a little bit before then (if stealing shit counts as 'supporting'), but it's a long, messy story Dean doesn't like to talk about a lot. 

"Yes," Castiel says. 

"I figure he wants me to look after myself… but it's stupid. I had other stuff going on, you know? So I don't remember shit about anything they taught us at school and it's... just not the priority." 

"He said you've been missing classes," 

"Look," Dean says, "there was this thing that happened two months ago. This… this armed bank robbery and I ended up in the middle of it. College wasn't so bad before, because everyone just left me alone, then this crap hits the paper… and suddenly everyone's trying to call me a hero. At first it was kinda awesome, cause chicks dig that stuff and someone else is always buying me a beer… but it… look, it doesn't matter. I'll probably be made to dropout soon anyway." 

"I can help you," 

"Why would you want to do that?" 

"Good things do happen, Dean," 

"Not in my experience," Dean returns, grimacing. It looks like he's now picked himself up a very dedicated tutor with stupidly blue eyes and no concept of when it's inappropriate to stare at someone so much, "what about you, anyway? You picked up enough about me from Sammy's big mouth." 

"Your brother is very proud of you," 

"Yeah, Sammy's awesome," Dean says, "you mentioned brothers?" 

"Three brothers, one sister," 

"Crap," Dean says, "older or younger?" 

"All older," Castiel says. 

"They as smart as you?" 

"Smarter," Castiel says, his expression as stony as ever. Ellen has informed him on multiple occasions that his expression goes soppy when he's talking about his brother, but – if anything – Castiel's expressions tightens into something angrier at the mention of his family. 

"Family issues, huh?" 

"This isn't helping you improve your French grade, Dean," 

"Sam told you about the first time I got drunk, the little bitch, you gotta give me something here, Cas." 

"I had never been intoxicated until I moved to Kansas, at the beginning of the academic year." 

"Well, shit." 

"My… my family are very religious," Castiel says, pulling out a French book from his bag and setting it on the table, "I moved to Kansas to escape them." 

"Family sucks," Dean says. 

He's gonna buy something green for dinner to ease the guilt about lying to Sam, but there's nothing to be done. He's gotta get Sammy a car. Not least because Dad would have been pissed if Dean hadn't managed to pull it off, but also cause every other sixteen year old round this place has one. Sam's already different in a couple of hundred different ways and, besides, he deserves to have his own car. Hell, by the time Dean turned sixteen their Dad was permanently drunk and almost useless, but he still passed over the keys to the Impala, Dean's baby. 

"You are very close to your brother," Cas says, head slightly titled as he tries to work him out. 

"Well, I'm his guardian," Dean says, uncomfortable, "he's my responsibility. I gotta… his future's on me." 

He's very, very thankful that Cas doesn't ask about his parents. 

Sam hadn't said a good word about their father for two years before he died and Bobby tends to keep very tight lipped about the whole thing, but he was Dean's hero for almost his whole life. He spent years trying to please him and sort out his messes, and his death is still so raw that he doesn't like to think about it. 

He can't, cause that brings up all that other crap, and if he starts thinking about everything he tends to drown in it. 

"Ton frère est court," The rasp in Cas's voice is kind of distracting when he's speaking _French_ and Dean has to run the words over in his head a few times before they really register, which means he looks like an idiot. Castiel doesn't seem to notice, though. 

"Sammy is… what?" 

"Short," 

"Ah, yeah, he totally is," Dean grins. He pulls out his page of notes about family which turns out to be a bad idea, cause he got fed up half way through the lesson and wrote 'Mr Roman est un grand dick' which, according to the snobby girl sitting next to him, wasn't even good French. He glances down to double check the word for brother; he's pretty sure he remembers it, and Cas did just say it, but he doesn't want to look like an idiot in front of Cas. "Est tes frères…court?" 

"Gabriel est court," 

"Gabriel?" Dean asks, raising his eyebrows, "Your brother is called Gabriel? What are the others called?" Castiel gives him a stern look, which Dean takes to mean _ask me in French._ Nerd. "Tes… frères appelés?" 

"Michael et Lucifer." 

"I think you got off lightly," Dean says, "Ta soeur?" 

"Anael," Cas says, "although she goes by Anna." 

"You're supposed to speak in French, douchebag," Dean grins, "where do they all live?" 

"I am not in contact with them at the moment." 

"Combien de temps?" Dean asks, because for some reason it's easier to push in a different language (even though he really does hate French, it's a frigging stupid language). Somehow, this seems more like a game than a conversation, which means it's a little easier to absorb. 

"Anna, deux années. Gabriel, trois." 

Two and three years… Dean freaks out when he hasn't spoken to Sam in over eight hours, so he can't even _imagine_ being out of contact with him for years. 

"Merde," Dean shifts uncomfortably. He's not used to the other side of the coin, here, and he doesn't know what you say that that; Sam's always the one running away, and Dean's the one following. "Pourquoi?" 

"Anna et Gabriel ont quitté. Michael et Lucifer en désaccord fréquemment. Nous avons des avis très différents. J'ai déménagé ici à s'échapper." 

"Dude," Dean mutters, "didn't understand a word." 

"I will write it down," Cas says, and his handwriting is half neat but a little bit erratic, "you can translate it later." 

"You're setting me homework?" Dean complains. 

"You don’t have to complete it," 

"But you're not gonna tell me what you said?" 

"No, Dean," Castiel says, pushing a piece of paper in his direction. 

"What's this about Sam?" Dean asks, squinting at the extra lines of French that he's pretty damn sure Cas never actually said out loud. There are a few words he actually recognises… car, Father, sorry. 

Dean folds the piece of paper and shoves it in his pocket cause, yeah, he doesn't want to think about that right now. 

For the next half an hour, Castiel patiently explains some grammatical rule he's pretty sure was never mentioned in class (although, the likelihood is he probably missed it), to the point where Dean almost feels like he gets it. 

Almost. 

*

In the end, buying some green food for Sam's dinner doesn't actually cut it. 

He's in a really good mood when he picks Sam up because he managed to make two classes _and_ get to Bobby's to make some good progress with the car. Except, Sam wants to go visit Bobby because they haven't been for ages and Dean knows it's gonna blow up in his face, but he still doesn't tell Sammy he skipped class… and they're pulling up in front of Bobby's place and Bobby makes some comment about him haunting the damn place, and then Sam goes from cheerful to bitch face #2.0 in the space of about thirty seconds. 

"You _said_ you went to class today, Dean," Sam says, turning on him. 

"I did," 

"You said you went to all of them." 

"Huh, well, I guess it slipped my mind." 

"Don't give me that crap," Sam says, livid, "why don't you ever just tell me the truth?" 

"Maybe it's because you're fifteen, Sam," Dean snaps, "You're a kid." 

"Don't treat me like I don't understand," Sam bites back, drawing himself up to his full, unimpressive height, "you act like you're alone in this." 

"I am the _adult._ " 

He knows that's gonna piss Sammy off, but it's also true. Back when he was fifteen, he didn't really get the chance to be a proper child and, yeah, Sam's childhood has been pretty messed up… but Dean's fought tooth and nail to make sure he had some good memories to look back on. Once, when their Dad had parked them somewhere to disappear and get drunk for a couple of days on end, Dean had driven out of town and they'd had a picnic on the hood of the impala in the middle of the damn night. On another occasion, they'd let off fireworks. There'd been a couple of times when he'd nicked footballs and they'd spent whole days playing dodge ball, or football, or whatever. 

And yeah, those were some of the best moments of his life, but he was the one calculating the risk factors and the money factors and Dad factors. The whole damn time. Whilst Sam had stood watching the fireworks explode into the night, Dean had been half worrying about the fire-danger and where the hell Dad was. 

_He_ was the adult. 

"Can you just quit trying to be Dad for ten minutes and be my _brother_?" 

"I'm trying my damn hardest here!" 

"Yeah," Sam says, breathing hard, "and I get that, Dean, I do, but you're _such_ a kid sometimes." 

"I'm the kid?" 

"Yes," Sam says, "the kid skipping school to mess around fixing up cars. And I know it's not about the money, cause you get more money from the diner, so don't pretend –" 

"– I'm fixing up your damn birthday present!" Dean half yells, breathing hard. "Hell if I know why." 

Then he walks out the door, slams it behind him and goes to sit in the Impala to breathe. He fucking hates arguing, but Sam's so frigging argumentative… and can't he just give him a damn break? All he gets is Sam guilt tripping him about college. And if he brings up the 'it's what Dad would have wanted' card one more time Dean's gonna scream, because he's been following his Dad's orders without question since he was six and he feels like he's earned the right to _ignore them_ if he wants to. 

And there goes Sammy's surprise birthday present, which Bobby will probably bust him for. Not as much as his Dad would have done though. He can practically hear the argument. 

_You can't even keep a damn secret for a few weeks, Dean?_

 _Won't happen again, Sir, sorry sir._

 _

You bet it won't, Dean. Next time, I'm not telling you shit. 

_

He wants a drink, but at some point he's gotta drive them both home, so instead he fumbles around to find his cigarettes. 

He accidentally picked up smoking the first time Sam disappeared for more than a week, and Sam gave him such hell for it that he quit. Until Sam ran away again… and then they ended up back in his hand like an old friend. They'd had a stupid argument where Sam accused Dean of guilt tripping him by smoking whenever he left, but eventually he dropped it and they both pretended the cigarettes were a non-issue. 

In the two months since the bank robbery, he's been smoking on the sly to avoid further arguing. Right now, though, he can't bring himself to care. He's tired and wrung out and so fed up of arguing with his family that it hurts. 

Pulling the lighter from his pocket disturbs the piece of paper with the French on from Cas, too. He reads over it a few times as he lights up his cigarette, his gaze blurring over Castiel's handwriting for a few long seconds before he decides, to hell with it, and grabs his French dictionary. 

_Anna and Gabriel left. I do not know where they are. Michael and Lucifer disagree frequently. We have very different opinions so I moved here to escape. Sam told me about the car accident you were involved in. I am very sorry about your father._

He's pretty sure that Cas could have delivered the same sentiment in long, smooth sentences, but Dean appreciates the simplicity. From Cas, it doesn't seem patronising. 

He drops his mostly smoked cigarette out the window, staring at the note. 

_I am very sorry about your father._

Yeah, well, sorry never resurrected anyone. 

Sam taps on the window of the Impala. Dean rolls down the other window. 

"Are you translating French?" Sam asks. 

"What's it to you, shortstack?" Dean asks, "Cas would only tell me about his family in French, the little bitch. So, you told him about Dad, huh?" 

"He asked," Sam says, pulling open the door and falling into the seat next to him. 

Back when, all necessarily emotional talks were all centred around the Impala. 

After Dean had found Sam wherever he'd been saying, Sam would always want to talk. Dean was never sure whether he was supposed to be angry, or relieved, or what he was supposed to say to get Sam to stay next time. Mostly, every time there was just so much hurt. Dean would throw Sam's shit into the trunk a little too aggressively and refuse to speak for the next thirty miles. 

Eventually, they'd stop, get out, talk it out. 

"I'm sorry I'm nagging, Dean," Sam says, "I just want you to take college seriously." 

"I get that," Dean says, his voice gruff, "I've just got a lot going on." 

"Yeah," Sam says, "I know, Dean," 

"I got you some vegetables," 

"I could make dinner?" 

"I got me a burger." Sam huffs a laugh. "You wanna go see your car? Now the surprise is all ruined anyway?" 

"Yeah," Sam says, with a tentative grin, "You're the best, Dean." 

"I'm awesome," Dean agrees, "just don't start crying there, Samantha. I won't have my baby subjected to that chick flick crap." 

"Yet you'll happily smoke your cancer sticks," 

"Oh, give me a break," Dean says, pushing open the door the Impala and shutting her behind him. He pulls out his phone, distracted. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Mind your own business, bitch." 

"Jerk," Sam returns, making a grab for Dean's phone. 

"I'm messaging Cas, you nosy dick." 

"You boys finish with your cat fight?" Bobby asks, shutting his front door and stalking across the grass towards the garage. "Y'idjits." 

"Yeah, Bobby, we're done," Dean says, fingers faltering slightly at his phone. 

_Finished my damn homework. Jo says you're on shift tonight. Try not to poison anyone without my expert supervision._

Sam practically giggles with excitement when he sees the car, even though it's still bashed up and probably won't work for another couple of weeks. He's such a freaking girl, though, and Dean barely regrets blurting it all out, cause Sam's been suspicious enough already. _Screw what Dad would have said._

"Maybe you can help me do her up," Dean says, eventually, "if you got time between doing your homework and painting your nails." 

Sam pulls him into a hug and wraps his arms around him, beaming, which Dean takes for a yes. Sam bounces back from arguments pretty easily, but it's still weighing pretty heavily at the back of Dean's mind. He wants another cigarette. 

"You're breaking my heart, here," Bobby complains, rolling his eyes. 

_Je voudrais continuer à vous aider avec le français. La semaine prochaine? Lundi matin?_

Fuck, Dean thinks, squinting at the screen of his phone. 

He shouldn't have left his French dictionary in the car.


	5. Chapter 5

With the surprise dead in the water, Sam's birthday passes without much fanfare. Dean gets him a fancy deck of cards because he didn't technically pay for the car and Sam 'used to be into that magician shit.' Ellen and Jo buy him a bunch of books that Dean told them he needed and Bobby managed to pull out a couple of photos of them all together when Sam was a baby. Dean accused Bobby of being soft by producing the most sentimental present, but Sammy's eyes glaze over and Dean realises all over again that there's only two of them left. It's Sam's first birthday as a full on orphan and that _sucks._

It takes him two attempts to gain his driver's licence (which Dean is never gonna let him forget) and a couple more days before Dean's nerves have calmed enough that he'll let drive himself to school (which Sam will never let him forget). And yeah, Dean currently has Sam texting him to inform him every time he gets in and out of the car, but he's getting used to the idea. 

In the meantime, he's learnt a hell of a lot about Castiel's family through decoded notes written in French. He knows that Gabriel left the second he became an adult and Anna left soon after. He knows Cas receives letters from them occasionally but they never leave a return address. He knows Castiel was studying Theology at a University near home before he dropped out and came to the KU, unable to stick it out with Michael and Lucifer any longer. He knows that Castiel's Dad disappeared a long time ago. 

(When he asked _what_ they argued about, Castiel said 'religious differences' and Dean hadn't got a clue what he was supposed to say about that). 

In turn, Dean's been constructing notes in poor French about his own situation. He told Cas that his mother died in a house fire when he was six… although, given how terrible his French is, he's pretty sure it was more like 'mother die. Fire in the house. Sammy, Six months. Me, six' and Cas, being awesome, didn't once ask him about his feelings, and instead focused on correcting his grammar and verb tenses. He managed a whole paragraph about his Dad… about how he used to be a marine until he decided to get married and have a family, how he was pretty messed up after Mary Winchester died, how he was more like Sam than Dean and how he earned his money in questionable ways if he earned anything at all. He got through 'beaucoup d'alcool' and 'de nombreux arguments' and Castiel barely reacted. 

And, somehow, he wound up getting better at French and talking about his family without realising he was doing either, which makes Castiel all kinds of awesome and Sam super happy. 

His grades are up a little cause Sam being able to drive himself too and from school means he can be more flexible with his shifts, so he can actually attend a bunch more classes. Plus, now he's finally getting French his motivation is up… but what's really awesome is that now Sammy can join them at the Roadhouse even when he's working late, leaving just before it gets dark, which means they can hang out pretty much as much as they like. 

Now, Sam's just finished getting Dean to check over his math – which is one thing Dean's actually pretty good at, at least at Sam's level of maths – and is sat at the bar drinking some girly fruit juice crap. Moments before, Jo had come in – off shift and bored – and decided that the group of girls were looking at Dean as if 'they were wishing this was the sort of place they did body shots' before Cas, looking grumpy, gone to take their drink orders. None too politely. 

"Don't mind Cas," Dean says, smiling as he slides over towards them to do damage control (because Cas isn't very good with customers, or drink orders, or _bar work_ ), "He's new. Hasn't got the polite thing yet." 

"Dunno about Cas," The brunet says, "but I certainly don't mind you…" 

"Dean," Dean fills in. 

"Dean," she say, leaving a slightly too generous tip before heading off to one of the tables. He passes the tip over to Cas, rolling his eyes because, yeah, he likes babysitting Cas… but he is utterly useless. 

"Be nice, Cas." 

"Don't worry," Sam grins, "Dean _hates_ body shots." 

"Really?" Jo asks. 

"Ever since… where was it, Dean, Illinois? Where you worked at that bar…" 

"Shut your pie hole, Sam," 

"… and they _did_ body shots. So Dean declares that it's his favourite job of all time and he's always going on about how awesome it was, and then there was this hen party –" 

" – I can still ground your ass, Sam –" 

" – and the bride-to-be took the body shot, then threw up _all over him."_

"Sam!" 

"I'm just saying," Sam grins, "there's no danger of that." 

"You suck," Dean half yells, but Cas' expression has soften and Jo is laughing. At him, sure, but there is something to said for seeing her grin. 

"Your abs that gross, Dean?" 

"My abs are a freaking works of art," Dean says, pulling up his t-shirt to demonstrate because it seems appropriate. His abs _are_ awesome. 

"Hot damn, Winchester," Ash interjects, wondering over the bar his for his usual top up. Dean had once been dubious that such high quantities of alcohol could possibly be good for Ellen's accounts, but the guys at genius. Just… usually a drunk genius. 

"When was that?" Sam asks, "How old were you?" 

"Twenty one." 

"You weren't," 

"Yeah, well, that's what I told them." 

He takes another look at Cas. He never would have thought Cas would be so uptight he'd get all moody about body shots, but the figures the guy does come from a super-religious family who outlawed pretty much everything Dean tends to do. And fell out over _religious differences._

"I wanna get a job," Sam says, and Dean nearly drops the glass he's holding. 

"No." 

"Wow," Jo says, glancing between them, "I'm so out of this conversation." 

She slips out back and, yeah, Dean wishes he could do a runner on this one too. 

"Dean, Sam says, puppy eyes out. He has this expression where his eyes get all wide and serious, and the subtext is all 'I understand how you feel' and it makes Dean want to punch something. Not Sam, though. 

"It ain't happening, Sammy." 

"You had a job when you were my age." 

Or two, or four. 

"I didn't have a _choice,"_

"I wanna help out with the money." 

"No." 

"Dean, even if I just worked a couple of hours a week, that'd mean you could get to more of your classes –" 

" – I got it covered, Sam –" 

" – but if I could just – " 

" – you're sixteen, Sam, you're not earning your keep." 

"You did." 

"And Dad should never have put that crap on me! You get a job, Sam, you can say goodbye to your matheletes and all that the geeky crap. Forget football. Forget glee club." 

"Dean, I don't… I just want to help out with the bills and rent…" 

"I ain't taking your damn money." 

"Why not?" 

"You think that the CPS are gonna like that I'm charging you rent?" 

"That's bull," Sam says, "you're just trying to get out of college." 

"I didn't drop out of school so you'd end up going exactly the same thing, Sam. You're not getting a job. And if you do get one, I ain't touching a single dollar. End of conversation." 

"It wasn't your responsibility –" 

"– yeah, Sam it was. No one else was gonna do it, so that fell on me. Now shut up before I chuck you out for being underage." 

Sam expression crumples. Dean wants to feel guilty, he does, but he's not having Sam working. The fact that Sam even wants to feels a bit like being stabbed, cause Sam is supposed to just _know_ the Dean's got it covered. He doesn't want Sam worrying about any of that stuff at all. Sam's moody and prissy when he dismounts the bar stool and heads over to one of the tables. 

Castiel looks pretty disapproving. Dean's about to ask where the hell he gets off, because he always seems to be there when Sam starts spilling the family secrets (because Sam trusts him, Dean's pretty sure, but still) and he never once asked him for a judgement on all this stuff. 

"Hey," Jo says, and she's back, "I found someone outside who says he knew John, Dean. Gordon Walker? Says you know him." 

"Yeah," Dean says, suddenly distracted. _Gordon. Crap._

"You need to go talk to him?" 

"Uh," He says, glancing at the door, then he catches sight of Gordon heading over to the bar. "Is your Mom out?" 

"Supply run," Jo says, "Why…?" 

That's definitely something he doesn't want to go over with Cas in earshot. He may have told Cas quite a bit about things, but there's a difference between saying that his Dad was sometimes involved in some dodgy stuff… to talking to Gordon Walker in front of him. Jo's unsure expression says it all, because Gordon's the kind of guy you can tell is messed up in the grapefruit; within five minutes you can work out that he's some kind of criminal. With what Cas already knows, it's not gonna take much to put the pieces together. 

But, yeah, they got history. John Winchester didn't work with Gordon much and always added a 'keep out of his way, Dean' to jobs they _did_ work, but they were sort of friends… and not in the way that Ellen and Bobby were friends, either, cause John hadn't spoken to either of them for years before the crash. 

"You don't look to please to see me, Dean," Gordon says, voice deep and commanding, "Now, what's say you let this lovely lady cover your shift so we can catch up? That Sammy, over there? Didn't your Daddy always say he was gonna be tall?" 

"Well, we're still waiting that one out." 

"Pity," Gordon says. 

"You ditched your phone lately?" Dean asks, eyes narrowing. 

He exchanges a look with Jo, trying (and failing) to ignore Cas completely, and he thinks she gets the message; Ellen's gonna be pretty pissed if she knows Dean's been talking to Gordon, but he really wants to talk to him a minute. Just a minute. Not least because, for months, Dean's been wondering why the _hell_ Gordon didn't show for the funeral. 

"I got your message, if that's what you mean," Gordon says, "was wrapped up in a job in Texas. Been laying low. Figured you'd be here, or someone would be able to tell me where you boys were at so we could drink to your old man. Drinks on me, fellas," 

"Sammy, get over here," Dean calls, stepping out from behind the bar. Sam's expression turns from pissed to downright livid in like two seconds, which isn't all that surprising. He never really made it a secret how much he hates Gordon. 

"You still too young for a real drink, Sammy?" 

"It's _Sam,"_

"No offence meant, Sam," Gordon says, "let's get a table." 

He picks one far too close to the bar, which Dean isn't mad happy with, but there's nothing he can do. Then Gordon's ordered a couple of shots and two beers (and Sam another coke) and, yeah, he probably shouldn't be drinking much on shift… but it's _Gordon._

"I hear you're in college, Dean," 

"Yeaah," Dean says. 

"And your Dad always said Sammy was the smart one," 

"Yeah, yeah, he is." 

"Dean's –" 

"– always been more like us," Gordon says, "I ain't saying you're wrong, Sam. You're just different." 

"I'm not gonna bring you guys down," Sam says, although quite clearly he'd very much like to tell Dean exactly what he thinks, "I'm heading back." 

"Yeah," Gordon says, "It's probably past your bedtime anyway." 

"Sam," Dean says, because he hates leaving things bad with Sam, even if it's just for the rest of the evening. He passes over the keys to the Impala and Sam _almost_ smiles as they swap car keys, but not quite. "And remind me to beat the buzz kill out of you later, okay?" 

"Now, Winchester, are you buying the next round or am I?" 

ooo

"So, me and Sammy are in the car, parked a street away from this station where Dad's got himself called in for questioning," Dean's saying, finishing his third beer, "and Dad comes round the haring round the corner. The car's already on and I'm ready to hit the accelerator, but Dad stops and he tells Sammy to get out the car. The adrenalines pumping, right, cause we _just_ jumped the bill for this motel… and, yeah, they're can't pin anything on Dad, but they're still gonna be keeping an eye on him and when the Motel calls the police, we're screwed. So Sam's practically shaking and he gets out, and Dad goes 'I ain't riding in the backseat of my own car, you hear me son?'" 

Gordon's laughing and Dean can feel a heat blossoming in his chest. He hasn't talked about Dad since the accident. Sam's dragged him through a few stupid conversations, but Sam doesn't get it. Sam never hero worshipped the guy and only ever focused in on all the bad stuff… he doesn't remember riding through the night, Metallica turned up loud, just because. 

"So Sam barks back 'yes Sir' and then the second he's in the back, I'm hitting the accelerator. We hear the sirens right after we hit the highway and we don't stop driving till we get to Pennsylvania. I drive straight for ten hours before swapping with Dad and then I'm climbing in the backseat and I'm thinking… _I'm eighteen._ I've stopped in shitty motels in every state.I've worked every shitty job there is. And I've seen more of American than most people will see in their lives." 

"That's the life," Gordon grins, "your brother don't get that." Now that he's stopped talking, he can zero in on the bad stuff. When he says they didn't stop driving till Pennsylvania he means pretty much literally… they had toilet stops every time they stopped for gas, and a few minutes to pick up supplies whilst Dad was filling her up, but their Dad wouldn't stop for proper food till they got there. Sam wound up sick. Dean didn't sleep for more than four hours the whole time. "I got this job going up in Kansas City. Real money spinner." 

"Thought you came out here to drink to my Dad," 

"Yeah," Gordon says, "did a bit of dollar sniffing out on the way." 

"Ah, crap," Dean says, half standing up, because Ellen's back and she's having a loud argument with Jo and it's almost definitely his fault. Jo throws a dishtowel at Ellen and leaves, loudly, slamming out of the backdoor. 

"You done slacking off, Dean?" Ellen asks. 

"Hey," Gordon says, standing up, "I'm sorry, Ellen, I'll let your boy get back to work. Just wanted to pass on my condolences," 

"Well, you done that now." The subtext is 'get out of my damn pub' but it's not said out loud. Everyone knows that Ellen puts up with a couple of shady characters, but not types like Gordon. He's bad news. 

"About that job, Winchester," Gordon says, pausing at the bar, "you want in?" 

He could take the job. Usually, with Gordon it's just low level stolen goods or whatever; the kind of thing where you can forget there's a victim till you can't sleep at 4AM. He could take a bunch of shifts off at the diner and actually go to class, or put the money away from Sam's college fund. But, it's not like back then… normally, he could have just dumped town if he slipped up and wound up on someone's CCTV and, even if they caught him, he could deal with the consequences easy. The CPS made it pretty damn clear that if Dean got involved in anything shady then he loses guardianship, as if they were slightly aware of their dubious past despite the fact that there ain't a damn black mark on Dean's record. 

And, yeah, they have back up. If they ruled Dean couldn't look after Sam, Ellen or Bobby were gonna fight for custody… but he's not sure he can live through fucking up that bad. Not when Sam's settled. 

"Nah," Dean says, staring straight at Gordon, "I'm out." 

"If you're sure," Gordon says, "I'd have thought you'd wanna put a little more away for your brother's college fund, but if you want out…" 

"Well," Dean says, heart thudding, "you thought wrong." 

"Guess you're not all that much like your Daddy after all." 

"Guess not," Dean says, lips tight. He wants to hit something. 

Gordon pays his tab and leaves without tipping him and Dean's suddenly remembering how much of a dick Gordon Walker actually is. It's just, he needed to connected his life now to the life with his Dad, just for a minute, cause he can barely remember who he is any more. 

And now Sammy's gonna be pissed for days. 

"You did the right thing, Dean," Ellen says, quiet and mothering, as she passes him a beer. 

"Can I take five?" Dean asks. 

Ellen nods, so two minutes later he's sat in the Impala smoking. He finishes the beer and fumbles around for his hipflask cause, yeah, he needs a proper drink right now. Five minutes passes and he can't handle it in the Roadhouse yet, so he just stays sat there. 

He can't stand being stationary. He needs to hit the road and drive. He needs Sammy in the passenger seat, bitching about his music taste and occasionally singing along. He wants out of Kansas. 

After thirty minutes of feeling sorry for himself, smoking and drinking slightly more than he intended, he heads back inside. Apparently, the shots with Gordon and the straight whiskey in the Impala is enough to push him over to _drunk,_ but he's pretty sure he's earned the right to be drunk if he wants to be drunk. And besides, who's gonna notice? 

"Well, you sure as shit aint driving yourself home like that, Winchester," Ellen says. 

Ellen, evidentially. 

He's absolutely and a hundred percent so done with arguing with people he loves, so he decides it's better just to shut up and sit down. He's also pretty damn certain that Ellen will try and kill him if he gets back to work, and Ellen is one bad-ass-scary mother figure. 

He knows he smells of smoke and he's pretty sure he can see Cas wrinkling his nose up slightly. Well, it was only a matter of time before Cas realised that Dean is too broken and crappy to be worth his time. He probably overheard part of the conversation with Gordon, too, so he's probably never gonna talk to Dean again and that's just _fine_ because he doesn't need anyone, and he sure as hell don't need Cas. 

"I will give Dean a lift home later," Cas says. 

"Get him out of my sight now," Ellen says, "I'll pay you for a full shift, don't you worry Novak." 

"You're two staff members down," 

"It's been a while since I got behind the bar," Ellen says, "and, Dean, you're off shift tomorrow night. Talk to your brother." 

"Alright, _mom._ " It comes out a little less sarcastic and derogative than he intends, which he blames on the fact that he's drunk too much. Ellen cuffs him on the upside of the head and rolls her eyes, but there's too much sympathy clogging up her expression. He's fine, though. He's actually fine. 

"Don't wanna get in your car, Cas," Deans says as they walk across the parking lot, "It's embarrassing." 

"There's nothing wrong with my car, Dean," Castiel says and, yeah, his voice is prissy and angry too. 

"Apart from everything," Dean complains, making a face. Castiel is silent as he climbs into the driver's seat. "You mad at me too, Cas?" 

"Yes," Castiel says, staring out the front of the car. 

"Well?" Cas looks at him like he's slightly crazy, which is pretty rich coming from Cas. "Hit me with it," Dean demands, "I can take it." 

"You are unreasonable, Dean. I do not think you should let Sam work, but your continued insistence to keep things from him is ridiculous. You should have left your father years ago," Castiel says, his usual gravel wrecked voice cutting right through him, "There are people that care about you, Dean, and you should have accepted their help. Ellen would have taken both of you in. Instead, you kept Sam on the road, disrupted his education and exposed him to dangerous people like Gordon Walker. You continually state that Sam is your responsibility, but you acted selfishly in trying to keep the three of you together when clearly it would have been better for all of you if you had left." 

It's all true. Of course it is. 

And how many times had Sam begged him? He knows that's what the running away was about. He knows the first time he split up from John Winchester to go find Sam; he shouldn't have bothered to go back. He knows _damn_ well that when John disappeared, he shouldn't have tried to find him. He knows he shouldn't have kept trying with something that was already dead. 

He knows he let Sam down. 

He'd done research into it, sure. He was gonna get himself declared as an emancipated teen and get Dad to sign over custody – because he would have done – then cut and run back to Kansas. But he couldn't do that… not even because he couldn't do that to his Dad, he just couldn't do it _period._ So they got stuck in this stupid cycle, with Sam stopping talking in schools, and the arguments, and him running away and Dean dragging him back. 

So yeah, he fucked up. 

Except, he doesn't wanna hear that. He doesn't want to hear that from Cas. He can't explain the tie his Dad's always had over him and, damn, he was just trying to be a good son and make his Dad proud, but it all keeps going to shit. 

"Yeah, okay," Dean says, and he doesn't feel drunk anymore. He thinks he might cry, but then again he might actually be too dead inside to do that. 

Cas' lips fix into a straight line and he drives him home in silence.


	6. Chapter 6

He wakes up just before midday feeling like crap. 

After Castiel's little speech, he drank an inadvisable quantity of whiskey and passed out on the sofa which, yeah, isn't seeming like the best idea now that he's hungover. He feels like someone stuck a knife in his left eye and he's pretty sure he didn't fetch _himself_ the blanket, which means Sammy must have done… so Sam's no doubt gonna bust his ass when he gets home later. 

He makes a grab for his phone, thinking maybe Cas has text to apologise… but no, instead he's got nothing but a message from Ellen reminding him he has tonight off (which is probably for the best, cause he's not sure he could deal with serving up alcohol in the foreseeable future) and a text from Sam informing him he's staying at his friend's house tonight and will be back on Saturday morning. 

He can't exactly stop Sam. He did whatever the hell he liked when he was sixteen and, anyway, he's not gonna be one of those tight assed parents (no matter how much Ellen mocks him for his worrying). 

He calls Ellen to apologise. She tells him that he's got his work cut out with getting Jo to forgive him, because she is evidentially really pissed. The last time Jo was mad at him, she was fifteen and John Winchester had just got her Dad arrested and then they didn't speak for five years, even at the funeral… so, he's not really sure how to diffuse a pissed of Jo. Sam's usually better at the sort of thing. He's pretty sure Sam's not gonna help him out, though. 

He calls Jo. She yells at him down the phone and says he owes her all his tips (or 'flirt money' as she calls it) for the next week, which he can live with. 

He tries to call Sam whilst he's still on his lunch, but he doesn't pick up. 

He gives up and turns on the television, except that even Dr Sexy isn't making him feel better (he reminds him of Cas for some indeterminate reason that he doesn't really want to think about) so after watching an embarrassing number of episodes back to back and still feeling shitty, he forces himself off the sofa and into the shower. 

At about the time Sam would be finishing school, Dean goes out and buys a week's supply of rabbit food and a couple of DVDs. He calls Sam three more times and gets no answer before he gives up. If Sam doesn't want to talk to him, he's not going to talk to him, and that's that. 

It's not surprising. From Sam's point of view, Dean shot him down about working, had a cosy get together with Gordon, got home and got drunk. If Sam had done the same, he'd be suitably pissed. 

He gets pizza for dinner and, by that point, the hangover has receded enough to make way for the shitty, dead feeling at the bottom of his gut. 

Sam's staying at his freaking _friend's house_ and all Dean wants to do is drive solidly for eight hours in one direction before turning round and heading straight back. Sure, the moment when he had to turn around would suck, but the hours of just _driving_ before then would be awesome; a whole night spent in his baby with Metallica turned up loud. 

Except it'd probably be too reminiscent of those times Sam ran away and Dean had to desperately skip between states trying to find him, or else Dean will start thinking too much about the crash. Besides, he's not sure he could afford to squander all the money on gas without due justification. 

Dean rings Ellen to ask if he can work tonight. He says that Sam's at a friend's house and doesn't want to talk to him, so there's not point him not working. 

She tells him to get a damn life and enjoy himself for a change. 

Dean rings Bobby. 

"What the hell you want me to do, boy?" Bobby demands, "or you just phoning to whine." 

He is, when he thinks about it, so he hangs up fairly quickly and decides just to suck it up. He can't just drive in case something happens and Sam needs him to pick him up and he can't work at Ellen's and he can't face the Roadhouse (he doesn't think that's what Ellen meant when she told him to get a life)… 

But, there's plenty of other bars in Lawrence. 

It's the kind of logic that makes Sam go all disapproving, but Sam's at his friend's house and Dean may or may not have a crippling fear of aloneness. Not always, but he doesn't associate anything good with being alone… it either meant that Dad was missing, or Sam was missing, and he was always trying to round them up again and reunite them. If he was alone, something was usually wrong. Sam was different. Sam _liked_ being alone, which Dean tries (and fails) not to interpretation as a failure on his behalf. 

When Dean orders his first drink, he's thinking about how he's always the one trying to keep everyone together whilst everyone else is trying to get as far away from him as possible. It's a brutal thought that burns almost as much as the first double. 

OOO

The only reason he was at the bank that damn day was become they'd ran out of money. 

Sure, you looked at it from the right angle Dean had been supporting them since he could bullshit way into a job, but that was always with a time limit. Dean just had to keep them afloat until they skipped town, usually with a whole host of unpaid bills and pissed off employees. It had been a relief when their Dad finally pissed off someone dangerous enough that it warranted a move, because it meant they had a clean slate and he could stop sending Sammy to the door to deal with the motel owner claiming the credit card had bounced. 

Now they'd been in Kansas for nearly four months, so Dean was arguing with a bloke in the bank. 

"I understand," Dean said, "but you're not hearing me. I can pay, but I can't pay right now. I've got three jobs, for Christ's sake, but I need the credit card –" 

"– I'm sorry, Mr Winchester, but –" 

Son of a bitch. 

"I've got a brother," Dean said, digging into his jacket pocket to pull out this picture of Sammy, because his puppy eyes could win anyone over (and had been instrumental in Dean securing legal guardianship, and getting Sam into a decent school even though no one could find records of the last year of his education, which wasn't all that surprising), "and we've been living in a motel. I'm trying to get us a flat, see – " 

And then there was gunfire. 

Dean turned around, base instinct making him take a step backwards, and suddenly everyone was panicking. 

"This is not a robbery!" The guy yelled. "Everybody on the floor, now!" 

The guy – short, long hair, kind of chunky – looked half mad, gun perilously swinging round to face the members of the public, eye wild. 

000

"Work or love?" The barmaid asks, pouring him a second double, "it's definitely something." 

"Family," Dean says, through a grimace. She raises an eyebrow at him like she's surprised. He's too young to have a family of his own, but probably too old to be drinking consecutive double scotches over an argument with his parents. "My little brother," Dean continues, staring down his drink, "he's gonna leave for college." 

He's pissed at himself for even getting strung up about this. Sammy should go to college and Dean's always known he'd bugger off as soon as possible, because that's just how Sam is. That hasn't changed just because Dad's dead… Sam still wants to run away and get away from the lot of them, and Dean can hardly blame him. It's not like he's really worth sticking around for. And it's even more stupid that this train of thought has been spurred on just because Sam is _staying at a friend's house._

"You dangerously co-dependent or something?" 

"Or something," Dean says, feeling the familiar burn of the liquid in his throat as it goes down. "Our parents… well, they're gone. It's just us." 

The barmaid pours him another scotch. 

He was herded into the middle of the room with everyone else in the bank, and he'd gotten onto his knees like he was instructed, but there was something about the whole thing that was off. Not the fact that he'd somehow wound up in the middle of a bank robbery, because there was all kinds of things wrong with that, but the guy didn't seem to have a damn clue what to do next. 

And that scared him. 

He recognised the raw terror in the guy's eyes; that desperation. He'd been dragged into his Dad's messes since he was seven or eight, so he knew something about what kind of people were dangerous and what kind of people aren't. Most people who robbed banks were just greedy, but not particularly inclined to hurt anyone… but this guy was desperate, and panicking, and pointing a gun at a bunch of damn civilians faces. 

"Hey, hey," Dean said, hands held up. The guy whirled around, gun pointing at his damn face, but at least then it wasn't pointed at anyone else. "Hey, buddy why don't you _calm down."_ He moved slightly, shuffling away from the others. The guy with the gun moved the gun on reflex, holding it up. 

"This is… not a robbery!" 

"Okay," Dean said, "okay, okay… man, let's just talk about this a sec." 

"Get down, I'll shoot you!" 

"Nobody's shooting anyone," Dean said, "So, it's not a robbery. Okay. I believe you. What's going on?" 

"I need… I need to find something." 

"Okay," Dean said, "okay. Where are you gonna start?" 

There was a bunch of people looking at him like he was crazy, but he stretched out a little more into a proper standing position and the guy didn't shoot him. So, he was stood in the middle of a bank with a guy pointing a gun at his face, but he seemed to have taken a breather and calm down slightly. 

As long as the guy was calm, no one should die. 

_No one's gonna die._

"No one's getting in or out," 

"I hear you," Dean said, slowly, "okay. Take me… take me as your hostage, okay?" 

"Pat him down," The guy told one of the others, and suddenly the dick who'd been refusing to give him a credit card earlier was up on his feet and checking him for weapons. Credit-Card dick gave him a 'what-the-hell-are-you-doing' look, and Dean isn't really sure how he'd answer that even if he could. 

"Okay," the guy said, slowly, "but everyone else in the vault! Everyone in the vault!" 

And that was when the power went out. 

000

He's drunk. 

He hates Kansas and holding down proper jobs for extended periods of time and dragging his ass to college. He hates that Sammy's always mad at him, and Sam can repackage it any way he likes, but the fact is Sam is still hurting over the fact that Dean put their Dad first. Sam was vulnerable, upset and a _kid_ and Dean dragged him through years of that because _he_ wanted them to stick together as a family. 

Cas is right. 

And he knows that's the reason why he let contact with Bobby and Ellen drop. It was easy to convince himself that was giving Ellen and Jo space after what happened to Jo's Dad, but he was out of prison in a couple of months and dead within another (lung cancer) and they stopped by for two hours to come to the funeral before he was putting Sam in back of the car and driving for two days (John Winchester didn't come). He was absolutely terrified that half an hour of conversation with Ellen and she'd insist that they stay, because Sam was a little more withdrawn and Dean was a little too skinny. 

That's on him. 

000

Somehow, volunteering to be a hostage had morphed into trying to help Ron not fuck himself over royally. 

It was pretty likely that the guy had gotten himself a fair amount of time inside, but providing he didn't shoot anyone everything was going to be okay. Besides, after spending the last few hours with the bloke, he'd come to the conclusion that Ron was a complete fruit loop; he was looking for the _mandroids,_ for fuck's sake. 

When he got out of this, he'd tell Sam all about these supposed Mandroids and they'd laugh about it. Sam would tell him off for getting involved, but he'd be secretly kind of pleased… cause to Sammy he'd always been a hero, even when he wasn't 

He was gonna sure no one got hurt. 

When the whole thing was done, Ron was gonna go with the police. He was probably going to be classified as batshit crazy and they'd help him. 

_No one was gonna get hurt._

And if Ron was pointing a gun at him in the meantime, at least that meant the gun wasn't pointing at anyone else. 

000

It's at least six kinds of stupid, but he absolutely feels like doing something stupid right now. And yeah, he's a couple of hundred up from hustling pool (when you take out the drink money), which means he should stop before he pisses someone off big time... but he has exactly zero motivation to do so. 

It's difficult to tell whether he wants to punch someone in the face, or whether he wants someone to punch _him_ in the face, but either way a fight sounds absolutely freaking fantastic. 

Why is he that much of a failure that everyone he loves is always trying to freaking leave him? He spent years trying to persuade Dad that maybe he might be worth a little more than his poxy quest for revenge and drinking himself into oblivion, but his Dad just kept leaving. He spent his whole life trying to please the man and he always turned out as such a disappointment. He did _everything_ for Sammy, always, because that was his job… but he still fucked up and Sam spent two years trying to run away, only managing it for a few weeks – maybe a month – at a time, before Dean managed to track him down. 

"You got a problem?" The man who won't pay him says, pressing his knuckles into his palm with a grimace. 

"Yeah," Dean returns, "you owe me some money." 

"Do I?" 

"Yeah," Dean says, "though if you need me to explain the rules of pool, man, you just let me know –" 

" – well that sounds like the kind of conversation we should have outside," 

"Well, I could do with some fresh air," Dean says, winking at the barmaid on the way out, fists clenching all ready. Except, somewhere after the fourth double scotch he lost his usual instincts, so whilst he's aiming for another smart-ass comment, the other guy is already drawing back his fists. 

000

He fucked up. 

He said the wrong thing at the wrong time and Ron panicked and shoots. There was some security guy that got in the way, and he was bleeding out on the floor with a bullet in his chest and everyone was panicking. 

Ron was sweating and losing it and waving his gun around. He won't listen to Dean anymore. Besides, now he was fucked because that was a _chest wound_ and there was too much blood for it not to be fatal. Dean could tell, straight up, that that guy was gonna die in the next few minutes and it was his fault because if anyone was gonna get shot it should have been him. He should have jumped the bullet or – 

Ron stepped out towards the guy on the floor. Dean was half way through telling him _to stop, for God's sake_ but, again, he fucked up, because he can hear the gunshot. 

_Police Sniper. Chest wound._

000

The guy's fist connects with his face again. 

The article in the paper said that Ronald Resnick was a dangerous, delusional man. The article says that Dean stepping in saved people's lives. The article said Dean was brave and acted selfishly out of a feeling of duty. 

The article in the paper is full of jack. 

000

He's fighting back, now, and he probably would have won (at least, he could have)… except the guy gets him in his bad shoulder – the one Dean messed up badly in the car crash – and the pain blossoms out, blinding him for a moment. 

He's stumbling backwards. 

000

The thing was, he didn't do it because he wanted to be a hero. The bitter truth that Sammy kept trying to get him to talk about was that _heroics_ barely came into it at all. It was just the fact that Dean is so _goddamn_ worthless that he's gotta prove himself by saving every damn person he can. And if it got him killed, then at least he went down doing something important. 

If someone was gonna get shot, then it should have be him. And if someone was gonna bleed out on that bank floor, it shouldn't have been the security guard and it shouldn't have been Ronald Resnick. 

It should have been him. 

000

The guy who wouldn't pay him is _really_ laying into him and Dean can't move his arm. He's pretty sure It's dislocated again, because the hot nurse at the hospital said that could happen, but it doesn't really matter right now. 

The guy's fist slams into his jaw… and then the waitress he was flirting with before is suddenly out front, saying she's called the police and an ambulance, and Dean can't really move but he _really_ wants a cigarette. 

"They ambulance will be here in a minute, Dean," The girl says and the hilarious part about it is _she's_ pissed at him too and, maybe, if this had been a slightly different night and he hadn't been feeling so self-destructive, he might have got laid instead. 

He's half way through thinking of some viable way he can still flirt, even when he's spitting blood, when he passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, things are going to look up for Dean at SOME point I promise... but maybe not next chapter. Sorry?


	7. Chapter 7

The last time Dean was in hospital, their Dad died. 

Dean was supposed to be driving the car. He knew they were skipping town that evening and he was supposed to be good to drive the first leg, except Sam and Dad got in this stupid argument. It was the same damn thing as it always; Sam didn't wanna leave… he had friends at his new school, he said it was disrupting his grades, he said he wasn't gonna come and no one could make him. Dean tried to tell him just to drop it for God's sake, because they needed to leave. He told him just to listen to Dad for once, Sammy… and Dad told him to stay out of it. 

So he stayed out of it. 

He stayed out of it and he went to the nearest bar. He drank six doubles and two beers. 

Then Dad called to say that he'd talked to Sam and they were ready to go. Dean told him where he was. Dad said 'you better not have been drinking, Dean' which Dean thought was just hilarious since John Winchester had been drinking whiskey for breakfast since Dean turned nine. 

Dad showed up two minutes later and they had a yelling match outside the bar. Thing was, he just didn't argue with his father. Categorically. He just didn't. When his Dad raised his voice he just damn well agreed, whatever it was, and went along with it. They didn't _disagree._

He was a good son. 

Dean was supposed to be driving the car but, because of the stupid argument and the alcohol, he was in the back. And because of that, John Winchester took the full impact of the swerving truck. If Dean had just drunk too much and not started yelling, he would have been in the front seat… and the hot nurse told Sammy he'd be dead, too, if he hadn't been wearing his seatbelt. Course, Sam always wore his seatbelt… except Dean didn't. 

If it had been any other night or any other day, or if Dean hadn't argued back, or if he hadn't drank too much, or whatever, he'd be dead. And he hasn't got one fucking clue why it happened to be _that day_ and _that moment_ and _those circumstances_ , because the chances were a million-to-one stacked against him. 

And yet, he's still alive. 

ooo

"You look like you went twenty rounds with a brick wall, Dean," 

"Ellen," Dean croaks out, pulling himself up, "I'm real glad to see you, Ellen. I think the nurse is trying to kill me." 

"I think you're trying to kill yourself," Ellen muttered, "and why?" 

"These goddamn pain meds," Dean mutters, "Goddamn medical bill nearly gave me a heart attack." 

"Sam insisted," 

"That _bitch,"_

"He's got your best interest at heart," 

"He doesn't know jack shit about my interests." 

"He knows that you sure as hell can't be trusted with them yourself," 

"So he's pissed, huh?" Dean asks, wincing as he sits up, "I knew that polite stuff was an act. Damn. Why he bother pretending to not to be mad at me when he visited, huh?" 

"Cause you're in hauled up in hospital, y'idjit." 

Bobby's in the doorway, looking grumpy as normal. He's been stuck in this hospital bed for three days straight and visiting hours are just not long enough so, yeah, he's been lonely and wallowing. Even if it's really his own fault, but he doesn't need to think about that for a little while. 

"Bobby," Dean grins, "you come to practice your bedside manner, or you gonna bust me out?" 

"You ain't in some temporary spot here, boy, you can't just cut and run this time." 

"Yeah, I know," Dean grimaces, running his good hand across his face in frustration. There's not a way in hell he can actually afford to pay for these bloody pain meds, especially as he's not sure he can sell Pam a one-armed-waiter. So yeah, he's fucked. "Just wanna get out of here, Jesus." 

"You realise you ain't gonna be able to drive for a while?" 

"I'm aware," Dean grimaces, because of course his latest mistake has to rob him of everything he enjoys doing. Now he can't even drive his baby. 

"You heard from Cas?" Ellen asks. 

"He's busy," 

"He's pissed, that's what he is," Bobby grunts, "ain't blaming him, either." 

"Yeah, I get it," Dean says, "Sammy get to school okay?" 

Bobby snorts and mutters something about not checking up on him every minute of the damn day, but there's an air of humour sneaking in again. If Bobby can grumble at him instead of offering a stony silence, then they're making progress. Then, Bobby isn't very good at holding grudges… unlike Sam. 

He knows he's gonna be in the dog house for the next couple of years, but he can make it up to everyone. He can fix this. 

And if not, hell, he's had a Sammy-goes-to-college-backup plan ever since he nicked his brother's Diary that one time. He'd almost thrown up when he realised Sam was such a girl that he _kept a diary_ ('it's a journal, Dean'), but that hadn't been nearly as bad as the content: pages and pages of whiny nonsense about how he couldn't wait to leave for good. 

It's almost the exact opposite of having some sense beaten into him, but a strange sense of calm has settled over him since he woke up in hospital. He's not really worrying about the medical bills and his dislocated shoulder at the moment, because there's nothing he can do about that now. Instead, he's all flat and calm. 

It's nice, actually, not to be a hot mess underneath the surface. 

Sam had been shockingly calm about everything too ('I'm waiting for you to start yelling, Sam' 'I'm not going to yell at you, Dean. It's not like you listen' 'well, I'm glad we're cleared that up') and Dean's pretty sure Sam's got himself set on a course of action that he's not gonna talk about until it's well underway, because Sam-with-a-plan is the only brand of Sam that's gonna something like that. So, he's mentally preparing himself for Sam trying to fix everything in his life, but there's nothing new there. 

And Dean can deal with that. Maybe it's the pain meds, but he's actually feeling pretty good about everything right now. 

ooo

As it turns out, Dean just has to sit through two more appointments with a doctor who teaches him these stupid arm stretches that he's definitely not going to do, dislocated shoulder or not, when they finally get fed up of Dean sneaking out for cigarettes and say he's free to go. Course, Ellen's in a meeting with her supplier, Jo's manning the bar and Bobby's not picking up. He calls Cas as a last resort, partially because he needs a lift home and partially because he's _missed_ Cas, their last conversation non withstanding. 

He tried calling Sam in between each other phone call and get's so fed up of the voicemail that he actually leaves a message, before giving up to get another lecture from his nurse about taking his pain medication. Since he's already had to give his credit card details to foot the bill (which is painful because, hell, he intervened in a bank robbery in order to get that credit card) he's tempted to actually take the prescription, but then the other part of him is arguing that he should save them for an occasion where he's in more pain than he is now. 

"Cas," Dean says, glancing up at the door and taking in Castiel's usual stoic expression. Cas looks slightly irritated most of the time, anyway, but he certainly looks to be in a bad mood right now… which Dean figures is understandable, but it still sucks. "You okay, man?" 

"I'm fine," Cas says, "hello, Dean." 

"You are, once again, dragging my ass out of hell here," Dean says, starting to pull on his leather jacket before remembering that's a pretty impossible feet what with his arm as it is and deciding just to be cold. "Not that I deserve it." 

Cas drives him home in almost complete silence and parks outside of the parking lot with the same expression. 

"Cas," Dean complains, reaching out and grabbing a handful of trench coat clad arm, "Can we just… be cool again?" Dean asks, meeting his gaze and staring straight back at him. "You can come up and have a beer, if you want." 

He's expecting Cas to reject the offer straight off but he agrees almost immediately, which makes Dean think maybe part of his current expression is down to guilt more than anything else. Last time they'd been in the same car, Cas had said some pretty brutal stuff and, the next day, Dean had gotten himself beaten to pulp. So, what Dean had been interpreting as cold anger might well be, at least in part, down to Cas not knowing where he stands either. 

"Awesome," Dean says, "I'd apologise for the mess, but this is all on Sammy." 

Dean hasn't had a proper home since he was six. 

He can't really feel sorry for himself over that fact, because Sam had never had that (because it's not like the kid could remember his nursery). Besides, Dean liked their transitory life style; it was pretty crappy having to try and hide from Sam that their Dad… well, wasn't in with the best crowd, but Sam was smart and he eventually worked out why they kept moving. Dean liked the impermanence of the relationships he formed in half the states in America, because it meant ample opportunities for reinvention and slowly perfecting his can't-give-a-fuck-attitude. He'd worked out what it took to walk in a room and be instantly popular, and liked, without ever having to commit to some kind of opinion or relationship - which, no doubt, wouldn't have worked out anyway. 

Once he'd gotten over the oddness of this flat in Kansas, though, Dean had begun to properly nest. They have their Dad's old guns (without any ammo, because Sammy is a bloody kid) mounted on one wall and the only surviving photo of all of them is tacked up over the TV. The few things they'd accumulated over the course of their travelling have pride of place, alongside the awful old sofa Bobby had donated and one of the old tables from the Roadhouse… and, with all those bits and piece from their old lives, Dean gradually stopped living out of a duffle bag. 

He hadn't realised that it was possible to feel so self-conscious about his flat, though, so leading Cas into the front room makes him feel slightly uncomfortable. This is his and Sammy's place and neither of them have had anyone round here before… 

Sam spreads. Dean chalks it up to the excitement over being permitted to doing so, but it's frigging annoying to have Sam's books and clothes all over everywhere. Except, as Dean tries to imagine what Cas is going to take from his newly formed home, he's beginning to register that Sam's stuff isn't _there._

After a big discussion about _what was best_ they came to the conclusion that, whilst Dean was in hospital, Sam could have meals with Bobby or Ellen and sleep back at the apartment for weekdays (because the commute from Bobby's or Ellen's was much longer and, besides, Dean worked nights at the Roadhouse and Sammy had been able to look after himself for years), although he spent the Sunday night crashing at Bobby's place. 

So, by all rights, there should be books everywhere and clothes lying haphazard and there isn't. 

And then there's panic entirely related to the quiet resolve Sam was wearing at the hospital. _Shit shit shit shit…._ Dean throws open the door to Sam's bedroom. The wardrobe is slightly open, content halved, and his duffle bag has disappeared into the ether. 

"Damn it, Sammy," Dean mutters, heart thudding as he reaches for the phone. He's dialling before he's even remembered Cas is still there. He can't even really bring himself to care because _Sam, where's Sam? He's really done it this time… really fucked up –_

" – Dean," Cas says, in that gravel-wrecked voice that sort of does things to him (but now's not really the time to think about that, is it?). 

"Not now," Dean cuts across, swearing as Sam doesn't answer, before dialling Ellen. She picks up on the first ring, which does wonders for his shot nerves. "He with you?" 

"Yeah," Ellen says, and Dean's heart starts beating again. Everything is still icy, but it's easier to think. He's safe he's safe he's safe. "Got here a couple of hours ago." 

Skipped school, then. _Shit._

"Put him on the phone." 

"He don't want to talk to you, Dean." 

"This is family stuff, Ellen, stay out of it–" 

"So you get in one fight with your brother and suddenly I'm not family?" 

"Put him on the phone," Dean demands, "Sorry Cas, I just – " 

Ellen has a muffled conversation with Sam that Dean can't hear, then he can hear Sam's breathing down the other end of the phone. The remaining ice defrosts. The last of his panic recedes slightly, giving way to anger. _He's okay._

"Sammy, what the hell are you trying to pull?" Dean half yells, glancing at Cas for a split second. Any normal person would have excused himself from the situation somehow… gone to sit on the sofa and pretend he couldn't hear what was happening, but of course Cas is still staring right at him. _Through him,_ even. 

"I left you a note, Dean." Sam's voice is prissy and pissed off, which means the conversation is probably going to take a serious turn for the worse. 

Dean steps into the kitchen and, yeah, now he can see the note (but Sam should have known he wouldn't have gone round looking for a note before the panic started). "Yeah," Dean says, reading the two lines – _can't deal with this right now, Gone to Ellen's_ – "the hell can't you deal with right now?" 

"Dean," Sam says, "the way you're acting." 

"The way I'm acting," Dean repeats, "Sam, I've been in freaking hospital. You're the one running away – " 

" – I'm not running away from you." 

"Newsflash, Sammy; _there's no one left but me to run from."_

He didn't really mean to yell, but now he wants to cry. 

"And you're not dealing with it!" Sam yells back, loud enough that he's sure Cas can hear Sam's end of the conversation now. "You're not sleeping and you're drinking too much and you're picking up stupid shifts and _I can't watch you do that_ Dean." 

"I'm fine." 

"You're not fine. If you were fine, you wouldn't have thrown yourself into that bank robbery like you didn't care if you died, because that was the only way you were going to be worth anything. I know you, Dean, and you're not okay. You got into that fight on purpose." 

"I didn't," Dean says, "I was just drunk, Sammy –" 

"- bullshit!" Sam said. "Dean, you –" 

"How long?" Dean interjects, voice tight, "how long are you gonna need at Ellen's?" 

"Just a couple of weeks." 

Dean swallows. He'd thought _days_ not _weeks_ and now he's fucked up and Sam's gone and Dean's alone. And, apparently Sam can see right through him, which is a nightmare; Dean is supposed to carry the weight so that Sammy doesn't have to worry about any of this stuff. Sam isn't supposed to know that Dean is _drowning_ because he didn't spend his whole life trying to look after Sam so Sam would have to look out for him. That's backwards. That's like their Dad would have done. 

He's not putting any of his crap on Sam. He's just not doing it. 

"Hell, Dean, you know I'd die for you –" 

"-well, hell, it's not like the feeling ain't mutual, Sam –" 

"No," Sammy says, "right now, you'd die for just about anything." 

"Put Ellen back on the phone," Dean says, because he can't deal with this right now. He can't have this conversation with Sammy. His heart's thudding against his ribcage so loudly he can barely think and it's all just rushing panic and emotion. If he has this conversation, it's all coming back. He's got years of repressed shit that he hasn't had time to deal with and he's not about to go excavating now. 

"Dean, we need to talk about this –" 

"Seems to me, you've already made up your mind. I'm not gonna beg you to come home like some frigging housewife, Sammy." 

Except, he wants to. 

Sam sucks in a sharp breath which means he knows Dean knew the parallel with what Dad said the last time Sam ran away, and he remembers that argument as vividly as Dean does. Damn. 

_You wanna run away Sam, you pack your bags. You've already made up your mind. I'm not gonna beg you to come home. You just piss off, Sam, I'm done looking._

"Dean," Ellen says, back on the phone, sounding suitably concerned. No doubt, Sam is now even more pissed. Dean blinks. Even when he's trying to clean things up he just winds up dirty. 

"I'm praying rent for Sam," 

"The hell you get off, Winchester?" Ellen asks, voice rising. 

"Fine, I'll work for free." 

"Dean," Ellen says, and Dean's gut twists, "Sammy don't wanna see you. I'm giving your shifts to Cas and Jo until he's cooled down a bit." 

"Fine," Dean says (except it's not, because he really needs the money for the new set of medical bills, and to buy some apology present for Sam), "I'll check in tomorrow." 

"I ain't gonna break him, Dean. He's a big boy." 

"Okay," Dean says, forcing his voice to stay in control, "I'll wait for him to call like a _frigging girl."_

Then he hangs up. 

The calm that he was enjoying before shattered the instant he realised Sam had packed a bag, but now the despair of it all is breaking out over him. Mom's dead and Dad's dead and Sam's gone and it's his fault. 

He can't even look after his own brother because he's too much of a fuck up. He's not gonna bring the CPS into any conversation with Sam, but if they do find out that Sam left for weeks after an argument they're probably gonna take him away for good – that's if he ever decides to come back. 

He can't compete with Ellen's homemade pie and mothering instincts. 

He thought he was doing the right thing looking after Sam. At the time, Ellen and Bobby were virtual strangers (parental figures from half a decade ago) and Sam wasn't doing so good. He sat down with both of them and they talked about it. He sat down with the dick from CPS and talked about it. He even talked to Sam about it… and every conversation seemed to come up with the conclusion that, if Dean could manage it, it would be best for Sam to stay with him. 

And he'd been doing it for years so why the hell can't he manage it now? 

Maybe what Cas said applies to that too. Maybe Dean was being selfish and decided to look after Sam because he didn't want to be alone. 

And, still, even after _everything_ he's done to prevent it, he's actually gone and done it anyway. He's alone. 

Then he's sinking back into the sofa with his eyes burning. He hasn't cried, period, since before Dad died, but the threat of tears is growing slightly. 

Cas sits down next to him on the sofa and claps a hand over his shoulder and that's when the tears come.


	8. Chapter 8

Bobby's pretty sure the damn Winchesters have taken at least twenty years of his life expectancy, because he's been worrying about them none stop since he met John over a decade ago. 

He lost his wife too and it's not like he's forgotten one second of what the felt like. He ain't never had any kids and he weren't interested in them, either, except the last argument he ever had was his wife was about that – she wanted them and he was dead set against it. That does things to a guy. So when she died, he saw kids just about everywhere and he still didn't get it... they were just snot nosed brats, the lot of them. 

He ain't proud of the fact that, back then, he'd fix up cars that were pretty obviously stolen without asking too many questions about it, but he don't regret it – and that's mostly because of Sam and Dean. He doesn't set much in store with fate, either, but it's a pretty big damn coincidence. 

John Winchester was a dick. The first time they met, he wanted some spare part for some sub-par car and with two kids in the backseat. Sam was just some snotty toddler, then, and Dean was watching him like a hawk… but he quickly decided it was none of his damn business, gave him the spare parts, and was pretty happy to see the back of him. 

The second time, John wanted him to fix up in the Impala. 

And Bobby told him there wasn't a chance in hell he was touching that car, because whoever the hell he'd nicked it off was sure as shit gonna want it back. He didn't want anything to do with a Chevy Impala 67, no matter how pretty she was or how much the pay check was gonna be. No deal. 

John said something back and the conversation got heated. That started off Sam crying. He remembered looking over to the damn Impala thinking this is none of your business, Bobby, and wondering what kind of asshole let his kids ride in the backseat of a job. Then Dean opened the damn door and said Sam needed the toilet, pronto, unless his Daddy wanted piss all over the seats. 

John Winchester blinked, like he'd forgotten he had kids and kids needed to pee. 

"I thought he was toilet trained," John had said. Bobby remembers finding his embarrassment at the moment the first likeable quality to the man. 

"He's gotta go now," Dean said, tugging Sam's arm (and Bobby had looked at him, and Dean had looked back, and Bobby had been pretty damn certain that _Dean_ was the one who needed the damn bathroom). 

Then Bobby was smiling at this eight year old kid and grumpily offering up directions to the damn toilet. And he couldn't even convince himself it was for the sake of the Impala, either. 

"You take him, Dean," John said, keeping his eye on Bobby suspiciously, "and don't touch anything." 

"Yes, sir," Dean said, dragging Sam out the car. A few steps across the garage and Dean turned around and winked at him. Sam was still sniffling unhappily, thumb lodged in his mouth. As Bobby watched them walk towards his house, Dean gently pulled Sam's thumb out his damn mouth and said something which must have worked, because Sam looked a little more cheerful. 

"It's my damn car," John said, into the silence the two boys had left in his wake, "I've had her for years." 

"Why aren't them kids home with their Mommy?" Bobby asked. 

"She passed," John said and there was that familiar grief stricken look that Bobby was so unwittingly attuned to, and there was something about Dean's wink which must have turned him soft. He let the kid use his bathroom. That should have been the end of it. He should have told John Winchester to leave. 

"I'll fix your damn car," Bobby groused, "but if either one of your boy's messes up my toilet, you're cleaning it yourself." 

Now, Sam's got the same old miserable expression plastered across his face even if he's no longer young enough to suck his thumb; it's freaking ridiculous, how they can be fourteen years on and Bobby's still trying to do some damage control. At least the damn impala _wasn't_ stolen. 

"Maybe I should go over there," Sam says, eyebrows raised and eyes big and vulnerable, "Bobby, he's gonna be a mess." 

"Probably," Bobby agrees, grumpily, as he pours himself another whiskey. 

He doesn't like this plan. He didn't like it when Sam, same wide eyed expression, bought it up at the beginning of the weekend, but it's not like they got a whole load of options. He's talked about it with Ellen and it's pretty obvious what Dean is trying to do, here, and it's not like they can just let him get himself killed. If this is what it takes, then it's gotta be done. 

Maybe he lost out on five years of their lives, but that wasn't through lack of trying. He left more damn messages on John Winchester's answer phone than he could count. And, the once or twice he managed to get in contact with Dean (either through calling one of his contacts who'd seen John around, or getting someone to stalk through the school records), Dean was stubborn and insisted they were _frigging fantastic, Uncle Bobby, quit worrying about me and Sam – we're fine._ Then he's got Sam on the phone, crying, and telling him that Dean's unconscious and John's dead and he found his number on Dad's phone, which Dean says he's not allowed to use, and _he's really really scared, Bobby._

"Cas can handle Dean," Ellen says, frowning. 

"I don't wanna give him a hard time," Sam pouts, into his soda. 

"You boys have been living in each other's asses for years," Ellen says, resting a hand on Sam's shoulder, "and he's been worrying about you constantly since he learnt how to read. Maybe you could both do with some space." 

"I don't _want_ him to worry about me!" Sam complains, "He doesn't need to worry about me." 

"That's your damn problem," Bobby says, "you're both too pig-headed to realise there ain't no way you can stop worrying about each other, cause that's how family works y'idjits. Don't matter how much space y'give each other, Dean's still gonna wanna fall over and die for you. You boys spend so much damn time trying to convince each other you ain't broken." 

Bobby takes another sip of his whiskey. 

"Bobby," Sam says, pouting. Sometimes he forgets that Dean's just a kid, really, with the weight of the whole damn world on his shoulders, but Dean's done a good job at preserving some of Sam's innocence up till this point. He's treated Dean like an adult since Dean turned fifteen and that was damn unfair of him, but there ain't no way to fix those wrongs. 

"He's gonna be fine, Sam," Bobby says, gruffly, "your pig-headed brother ain't gonna do anything more stupid than he's already done." 

It's easy to remember that Sam is just a teenager, though, because Sam's posture visible relaxes. He's loathe to admit it, but a little time away from Dean _will_ probably be good for Sam; Dean takes helicopter parenting to the extreme (not that he blames him, either, after all the things that boys lost it don't take a genius to work out why he's overprotective) and, well, Bobby thought he had top marks in 'Daddy Issues' before he met Dean (that whole business is something Bobby don't wanna touch). Dean was carrying Sam from burning buildings when he was six, so yeah, it's understandable that he ain't adjusting to Sam needing freedom and a little space. 

Besides, Dean's got his own issues. He should've busted Dean for it earlier, but the boy just lost his father (on top of everything else) and Dean closes up and backs off whenever Bobby pushes it, so it was easier to let him sink into whatever hole he's got himself in, the idjit. 

"Cas will get through to him," Sam says, swallowing. 

Bobby's only met this Castiel once and he didn't know what to make of the kid, but Sam seems to have some unyielding faith in him and Dean seemed to be pretty attached (which is a frigging miracle, given the only attachment's he's seen Dean hold up long term are to his car and his brother). Sam's right about at least one thing, though, because Dean's gonna be a mess. 

He's seen Dean smash up the Impala and get drunk and angry. He remembered one of the few times Dean called him, in those five years, when Dean breathed that Sam had run away and he couldn't find him. He was driving down the interstate at 130 mph because he had to follow Sam, he had to get to him, Bobby, but he barely knew what he was looking for. _You're gonna get yourself killed, Boy. I don't care Bobby! I don't care I don't care where's Sam - - -_

Bobby shakes his head into his bottle of whiskey and wishes Castiel Novak some good luck, because chances are the kid is gonna need it. 

ooo

Castiel does exactly nothing for fifteen minutes whilst Dean cries into his knees. It's all kinds of embarrassing but Dean can't think about that, because he's thinking about everything else he's not supposed to think about. 

He's running into their burning house, Dad is thrusting Sam into his arms, and he's stumbling into the clean air; his Mom is screaming _'Sammy'_ and his Dad is screaming _'Mary'_ and he's outside, clutching Sam to his chest, blinking back tears caused by smoke and fear. 

He's teaching Sam the word 'Mama' in private because he thinks it's one of those things Sam should know, even if he doesn't have one. When he finally gets it, Dean finds that he wants to yell at him to shut up, but he says it again and again _Mama, Mama, Mama._

Dean's nine and he was supposed to be looking after Sam, but he got bored and went out to get soda, and Sam fell over and hurt himself and Dad is yelling because _you shouldn't have left, Dean. You don't leave your bother alone._

He's dropping out of high school cause there's not enough to frigging eat. The guidance councillor is giving him this look, like she's already written him off as a failure. He's blinking and he's thinking _I know, I know, I know._

Sam's run away and Dean is running after him. He's a hundred miles down the highway when he stops for gas and he realises, with a punch to the gut, that there's no one running after him. 

He's swimming in and out of consciousness in the back of the Impala, trying to scream for help because his Dad isn't breathing there shouldn't be that much blood, he's not supposed to bleed that much. 

Ronald Resnick is dying in his arms. He looks surprised, like he thought Dean could actually save him. He looks like he wasn't expecting Dean to mess up. It's the first time Dean's seen that expression in months, and it's carved into the face of a dead guy. 

Cas is laying into him in the Impala, telling him a bunch of shit he doesn't need to hear because he already knows down to his bone. _Selfish, scared of being alone, fuck up._

"Dean," Cas says, finally speaking, "I wanted to apologise about what I said in the Impala the other night." 

At some point, he's stopped crying, but his head is swimming with all this crap he can't deal with. It's easier to switch over and try to concentrate on Cas's voice than all the other stuff, even though it's still sitting in the forefront of his mind. 

"Right," Dean says, his voice coming out more as a rasp than anything else. Dean can feel the weary angry feeling up at that, because maybe it's true but he didn't need to hear that from Cas. Cas was safe ground. Cas was good. He understood him and didn't judge him and appreciated that he worked hard, whenever everyone else seemed to have forgotten. Except, Dean had obviously provoked him too… and now that's done. Cas can spew out apologies till he's blue in the face, but Dean's just waiting for the next punch to come rolling in. That's how this works. 

"Did that… work?" 

"Do you feel better?" Dean asks, standing up to give himself some space, because Cas has no knowledge of social boundaries. Or apologies, either, because he's received some shitty apologies in his lifetime but this ranks top. 

"No," 

"Then no," Dean says, he grabs them both a beer anyway. It's not because he's forgiven him, either, it's because he's not sure what he's gonna do when Cas leaves. Maybe cry again. 

"Dean," Cas says, and there's a note of frustration in his voice, "I was… having doubts about my father and I projected my frustrations on to your situation with Sam. I don't believe you are selfish in the slightest. I believe you were trying to do the right thing." 

"Well, thanks," Dean says, "but you're the minority, here." 

"That's not the case," Cas says. 

"Yeah?" Dean demands, still stood holding his and Cas' beer, "and how would you know about that, huh?" 

His throat is still thick with tears. He's not sure whether he wants to drown in them or pull himself out, but this conversation with Cas is stalling everything at least; he's been working off the hypothesis that if he can just distract himself for long enough, it's all gonna go away. It hasn't worked thus far but, hey, he's open to retrials. 

"I talked to your bother." 

The mention of Sam makes his throat tighten slightly. He thrusts Cas' beer at him and starts pacing up and down the space in front of Bobby's old sofa. 

"Fine," Dean says, dragging a deep breath from somewhere painful, "all right, tell me about your Daddy issues." Cas gives him a look like he doesn't think now is the right time be talking about this, which sparks up Dean's irritation all over again. 

What does Cas want him to do? Start composing poetry about how it sucks that everyone he loves dies or leaves? There isn't much to say on the matter, other than it makes Dean want to give up and that he's not entirely sure that he hasn't already. He doesn't need Cas and his stupid judgement and his stupid looks and his frankly piss poor grasp of personal space. "Cas," Dean demands, "just tell me about your damn doubts before I hit you." 

Cas' blue gaze drops down to Dean's sling, but wisely decides not to comment on the fact that Dean can't really hit him. Still, he's sure if Cas provokes him enough he could do some damage with his left arm. 

Cas looks down at his knees. Dean can feel something sharp dislodging from his throat because, yeah, he recognises that look Cas has got… and he's fucking stupid in regards to his family, his Dad in particular, and Cas looks so despondent and pensive that it's a little difficult to stay mad. He's not mad, anyway, he's upset. 

The same as Cas is. 

"Okay," Dean says, running a hand over his face in frustration. He wants to get mad at yell and all the rest of it, but it's not like that ever does any good. Dad's gone and Sam's gone (temporarily, hopefully, or he doesn't know what the hell he's gonna do) and Cas looks so frigging sad. "Okay, I'm ordering a pizza, but then… we're gonna talk."


	9. Chapter 9

Cas didn't say much about his father in the brief family introductions they did in French, but he always had that same reverent expression that he knew he used to get when thinking about his Dad. He knows he's not around anymore, but that's about it. He'd sort of assumed the guy had died and that was just Cas' way of talking about it (because he's not that good at talking about death, either), but Cas' silence as they are their way through their meat supreme is making him think it's more complicated. 

Then again, this is Dean's life, so chances are… it's always more complicated. 

"So, you have doubts," Dean prompts, "So, shoot." 

"You must understand," Cas says, staring at him even though Dean's sure, if this were him, he'd be looking anywhere else, "Before, we were very happy." 

He knows all about the infamous before and he's learnt not to set much in store by it. It's the before without a date or a specific moment, because the second you try and pin the before down it slips into obscurity. He thought they were happy _before_ Dad's drinking got bad, until he tries to work out when that was. _Before_ the car crash, _before_ Dean dropped out of high school, _before_ his Mom died… 

You could chase the before forever, but you'd never reach it. 

"My mother died shortly after I was born. I have no memory of her. My father kept us together. When I was ten, my father left, leaving Michael in charge. Lucifer was Dad's favourite and he took my father leaving badly. He is the second eldest and he did not take well to accepting orders from Michael. I see a great deal of Michael in you, Dean, and now… I am questioning my father's decision to leave." 

"He left?" Dean asks, feeling his blood heating up, "What do you mean, he left?" 

"I mean what I said, Dean. I mean _he left."_

"Just packed up his bags and left?" 

"I always believed he was doing what was best." 

"How old were the others?" Dean asks. He has vague details about his brothers, but nothing quite as specific as age gaps. 

"Michael was twenty one, Lucifer was nineteen, Gabriel was fifteen and Anna was thirteen." 

"And he just fucks off into the sunset, leaving a twenty one year old to look after you all?" 

"Michael never complained. He was happy to obey my father's wishes." 

"Yeah, maybe he never complained to _you._ Your mother's dead and your Dad's fucked off, Cas, he's not about to tell you anything different. Your Dad should never have put that on him." 

"Exactly," Cas says, face crumping into a frown, "I realise that now. You're forcing me to revaluated, Dean, and it's…" 

"And then you just run out on your brother?" Dean demands. He'd suspected, once or twice, that Cas was a lot more like Sam than Dean; Castiel was the one running away from his family, which is probably why Dean never pushed it. He didn't wanna know. "After he bought _all_ of you up?" 

"No," Cas says firmly, "Listen, Dean…My family are rich. We coexisted relatively uncomplicated for several years, when Michael and Lucifer's disagreements worsened. Michael became… unaccepting. Rigid. I said my parents were very religious, but with Michael as head of the household it became more of an…issue. Gabriel was already more distant before he left, but I believe he disappeared because he couldn't stand the fighting anymore. Anna left because she didn't want to live by Michael's rules. I stayed, Dean. I ended up studying _theology,_ despite the fact that I hated it and I realised that I was… I was never going to fit in with Michael's plan for my life. I was living in college dorms and the extra distance away from them made me realise things… about myself. I asked Michael to accept me for who I am and he refused. He threatened to cut me off. You are _not_ Michael, Dean, because you would never treat Sam that way… I merely meant that the parallels in your situation made me think about everything." 

"Yeah," Dean says, swallowing, "no, I can see that." 

Dean has difficulty fathoming everything into actual words, sometimes. In theory, everything is simple, but talking about this stuff out loud clogs up the raw feeling with rationality and then he has to question himself. 

He exists to look after Sam. That's been his job for a really long time and, yeah, so he beats himself a bit when he fucks up… but that's how it should be, because if he's _not_ looking after Sam then what good is he? 

And yeah, when Cas is talking about his brother Michael and his father, he can see the flaws in all of it. It should never have been Michael's job to look after the rest of them (and Michael was much older than Dean was). He figures that Cas' Dad is a class A dick and he's at a loss as to how Cas can still talk about him in that slightly reverent tone, and somehow twist it in his head till it's Lucifer and Michael that fucked up, not their Dad. 

He gets that. 

In theory, he understands that the weird mirror situation they having going on has caused Cas to re-evaluate everything, because now he's dragging himself through all the truths he thought he knew, but maybe aren't that true after all. It makes sense to say that this isn't Dean's fault, whilst his instincts are screaming that it is. 

"Cas," Dean says, "I'm sorry, but it sounds like your Dad is a dick." 

"For a long time, I believed that Michael was still in contact with my father," Cas says, frowning, "I'm not sure whether I believe that anymore." 

"So you, uh, you've been cut off?" 

"Not yet," Cas smiles humourlessly, "although, I doubt there's any reason beyond the fact that he hasn't filed the paperwork yet. Our last conversation wasn't pretty." 

"Yeah?" 

"I was very angry at Anna and Gabriel for abandoning me for a long time," Cas frowns, "I think I understand now." 

Dean closes his eyes for a second. Maybe Cas can be Dean, too, angry about being left behind by the people who are supposed to love him. Maybe he can understand both of them at once. There's always this possibility that it's not black and white. 

"I'm an ass," Dean says, irritated, "at least my Dad, tried, right? I mean, he was a bit of a bastard but he was _trying._ He wanted to do right by us, you know? And Sam… Sam, Cas, I gotta get him to come back. You… get it, right? Tell me what I got to do, Cas," Dean says, half broken and completely exhausted. He's been doing this for a really long time now and the cracks are starting to show. He thought he was gonna hold out a bit long before it eventually broke him, but it's not that surprising. "I gotta get Sammy back." 

Cas gets it, so he's gotta have some answers or Dean's really screwed this time. Cas understands both of them, so he can fix this for him. 

"Dean," Cas says, "he is just _worried_ about you and does not wish to watch you continue to self-destruct." 

"I'm doing my best," Dean croaks out, "God damn, Cas, I don't know what more I'm supposed to do." 

"You need to look after yourself." 

"I _can't,"_ Dean spits out, the anger beginning to flood its way back in, "I can't do that. Sam…. Sam's gotta come first. I can't save everyone, but I gotta save Sam." 

"You're not helping him right now," Cas says. His voice has dipped lower, if that was freaking possible, and it's gentle and frustrating. He's not made of glass. He hates this softly softly approach that Sam always takes. He wants someone to yell at him. 

He wants Cas to yell at him for being selfish. He's _just_ spilt his guts to him about his own messed up family situation and Dean's been absolutely useless. He is useless, if he hasn't got Sam. 

"Well then I gotta do better," Dean says, standing up and pacing the length of the carpet. "When the hell am I gonna catch a break?" He demands, turning round and glaring at Cas. "I mean, fuck, what does Sam want me to do, huh? I'm maxed out, Cas, and I'm fucking _sorry_ if I mess up sometimes, but something's gotta give because I am done." 

"You don't mean that, Dean." 

"Don't I?" Dean's yelling. "Cas, I work over seventy hours a week most weeks, and somehow we're still living hand to mouth. I finish at the Roadhouse at three AM and start at the diner at nine. I haven't slept for more than three hours for _months._ And that's not good enough for Sam, cause I'm not doing well at college, which is a fucking joke anyway. Sam thinks I finished at the Roadhouse two hours earlier and Ellen thinks I start at the diner two hours later. I've been lying to my family for years because if they're worrying about me, then what's the point anyway. I've lost everything at least six times over. I've just got Sam and my car, and Sammy's gonna leave. Even if he comes back this time, he's gonna leave again. There's no second wind here, Cas, I'm just _done_ with all this shit. I'm out." 

"Sam nags you about college because he wants you to think of your future." 

"I haven't got a future," Dean grates out, "it ends bloody and it ends young. That's it." Cas has turned his stupid blue eyes at him, looking right through him. "There aint no happy ending for me, Cas. I'm cursed, but I'll be damned if Sam doesn't get the wife and the kids and the future." 

"It is the very fact that you care so little about yourself that is driving your brother away," Cas says. He sounds like he gargles glass. "It is _self-preservation_ and, if you had any, you would have left your father." 

Which means their back where they started. Cas _knew_ how much it hurt to have family walk out on him, but he ended up doing it anyway because that was the right thing… so, yeah, even if Cas didn't mean to throw that at him like that (and Dean didn't really mean to forgive him, either, but it's a bit difficult to hold anything against the guy right now), he still believes is. 

"I can't pay for these stupid painkillers," Dean says, and he wants to throw them across the room and cry, "I can't work. I can't even drive. I'd give up the lease on the flat and sleep in my car, but Sam's so attached to the damn place. I know this is my fault, Cas, but you gotta tell me what to do." 

"I talked to Sam," Cas says, "he didn't want to leave, Dean. He thinks it's the only way you'll listen." 

"Well I'm listening, damnit," Dean says. He's not gonna cry again, because he's not sure he has any tears left, but there's a gaping hole in his chest where the reassurance of Sam's presence is supposed to be. When Sam's there, he can tie himself to him. If Sam's okay, then he's okay – he's got to be, because Sam might need him. 

"I'll drive you to college and the diner, if you're still able to work." 

"Cas, you gotta have something better to do than drive me around." 

"There's still a month left until the end of the academic year. You might have enough time to bring your grades up. That will help Sam believe you're beginning to take your own needs into account." 

"I don't care about college," Dean says. 

"Then _pretend,"_ Cas says, his voice fierce, "if you want your brother back, Dean, you are going to have to make some changes. You need to show him that you're sleeping. You need to show him that you are doing things you enjoy. You need to show him that you're not about to jump in front of a gun, or a drawn back fist, because otherwise, Dean, how he can he rely on you like you want him to?" 

He can do that. He can pretend. 

Any way you look at it, he's getting out the day Sam doesn't need him anymore, but he kind of gets why Sam knowing that isn't gonna help him much. 

"I don't know if you noticed, Cas, but I can't write." 

"I assume you had a meeting with someone to talk about your circumstances at the beginning of the year," 

"Yeah," Dean grimaces, "some woman called Missouri who insisted I check in with her every month or she'd beat me with a wooden spoon." 

"Did you?" Cas asks. Dean sends him a look. "We'll call her tomorrow. They might be able to organise some special circumstances so you can take your exams after your arm is out of the sling." 

"Great," 

"In the meantime, do you have any way to increase funds?" Cas looks hopeful and like he actually thinks Dean can do this, when Dean is almost entirely sure that there's not a chance in hell that he can. The cost of the painkillers is sitting heavily at the back of his throat, though, a thickness that makes it difficult to breathe; it doesn't seem to matter how hard he works, something always comes up and he's back to square one. "Something legal." Cas clarifies. 

"Well that rules out most things," Dean says, standing up and crossing over to his bedroom. 

He pulls the journal out from the back of his wardrobe and sets it down on their poxy kitchen table, pulling up a chair. The journal – brown, leather and beautiful in that archaic way – was supposed to be his father's, but it was one of the few relics of things that Mary Winchester had touched and, in the days after the fire, he'd collected all these bits and pieces and claimed them as his own. His Dad hadn't argued and even if he had, Dean wouldn't have listened. 

So, the book had become a holy article, empty for years until Dean had decided to put it into use. 

Cas hovers behind him, much too close, whilst he flicks over to the last page. 

"This is classified, Cas," Dean says, pointing at the pages of the book before glancing at him, seriously, "So don't go talking about this to Sam or Jo or anything. It's just the book I write up the accounts in, but it's private." 

This page was entitled 'in case of an emergency' by Dean's sixteen year old self, and the numbers spill out onto the second page but most of them are crossed out. It's amazing how many bridges they'd burnt over the years. Ellen and Bobby's numbers sit near the top, crossed out then rewritten in years later – but they're just shelter and somewhere to go emergencies, because he sure as hell wasn't gonna borrow money from them. 

"Father Jim?" Castiel questions, finger pausing at one of the crossed out names and numbers. 

"Figures you'd hone in on that, church boy," Dean mutters, "he was dead set on saving Dad's wounded soul. Then Dad broke a stained glass window and stole his car. Figured we weren't welcome back." 

"Caleb?" 

"Jail," Dean says, distracted. He turns over to the next page ('Cash emergencies') and frowns at the fact that most of those numbers have been crossed out too. "He's credit cards," Dean continues, biting his lip, "illegal, illegal, illegal, very illegal…. 

"You missed one," Cas says, "What's that one?" 

"Some bastard who wants to buy the Impala," Dean says, "for a lot of money, too. But I can't do it, Cas, I just can't. The day I have to sell her my next stop is to lie down in the middle of the highway and wait to get hit by something heavy. I won't do it." 

Cas doesn't question this. 

"What's that number?" Cas asks, pointing to the final uncrossed out number on the page. 

"Crowley," Dean groans, running his hand over his face in frustration, "Fuck." He really needs a drink; because that's the nearest thing to a perfect solution he's got. He'll just have to grit his teeth and bare it. "Crowley's a journalist," Dean says, gritting his teeth, "he wants to interview me about the Bank Robbery. He thought I'd do it for free, you know, to get my name in the papers – as if it wasn't there enough, at that point – then he got all smarmy and offered me a financial incentive. Said he knew I was the sole guardian to my brother and all this crap. Ah, shit, Cas, I don't want to do this." 

Cas has leaned over and flicked back to the beginning of his journal and is reading the content as if it's actually interesting. It's all colour coded and organised and probably the geekiest thing Dean's ever done in his life, but he needed some record of expenses and incomes – to work out how best to look after Sam – and he thought, maybe, his Mom would be pleased with the eventual content of the book. Expenses for Sam are in blue, Dad in red and household expenditures (gas, food, motel bills) are all in black. There's a money in column and a money out column, and the end of each page has their balance; the black/red colour coding there is obvious and, more often than not, it's in the black. Just. 

"Don't read that," Dean frowns, "it's boring." 

"It's a log of yours and Sam's life," Cas says, turning over a number of pages this time. _'Sneakers, Sam'_ is the biggest expense on this page, which probably means groceries that month were stolen (because, obviously, he didn't record the illegal stuff because he's not dumb). "When do you buy things for yourself?" 

"I don't really need crap," Dean says, frowning, "I nicked my alcohol and my cigarettes. Now I have to figure that in, but I'm pretty cheap." 

"It seems Sam isn't," Cas says. 

"He's a teenager," Dean says, "Teenagers always want a load of crap." 

"You had saved a lot of money," Cas says, skipping through a few more pages. 

"Well," Dean can feel his mouth go dry, "funerals are kind of expensive. And then the medical bills put us back in the red. I didn't work for a few weeks… I was fixing up the Impala," his throat hurts. "I should've got insurance," Dean continues, "almost could have afforded it, you know, but I figured it would be cheaper just not to get hit by a fucking truck." 

Cas turns over to the page just after his Dad died. He got drunk and angry and tore out the page where all the expenses came rolling in, but the next few pages are all written in black – colour coordination be damned – and go from detached 'groceries' and 'gas' to more aggressive and more honest notes. _'A fuck load of alcohol' 'porn'_ and _'vegetables to make Sam stop complaining'_ are all listed. Dean winces a bit, because he remembers how he felt when he recorded that, and mentally wills Cas to stop turning through the pages of his life like that. 

"You missed a month out," Cas says, turning back between pages. 

"Right," Dean says, "that was after the bank," 

"Dean," Cas says, "this is very impressive." He's got budgeting calculations in the margins and an attempted flipbook of a girl flashing in the top corner, so he's not really sure impressive is the word. Yeah, he persistently kept their receipts and recorded everything, but it's not like it helped. They're still broke as fuck. "When did you start this?" 

"Sixteenth birthday," Dean says, running a hand over the back of his head, "although, I dunno if those pages are still in there. Keep filling it up. Cas, stop reading it like it's the frigging bible, okay? It's just a bunch of calculations." 

"Why did you start it?" 

"Dad gave me the keys to the Impala," Dean says, and Cas looks at him like he's waiting for a lot more explanation. Dean sighs. "Just after Mom died, I used to collect all this stuff that she'd used, touched... there wasn't much left cause of the fire. It's dumb; she didn't even like the Impala. She wanted something with fuel efficiency and lots of space for booster seats, but… she nearly gave birth to Sam in that car, you know? And he'd have ruined the damn seats if he'd been two minutes earlier. But, yeah, I was six and I told Dad I wanted the Impala. Then, decade later, he actually remembers my birthday – which is a frigging miracle, I tell you – and he gave me the keys. 

"By that point, Dad was kinda useless. I think it was partially because she's too distinctive to take on a job and all it really meant was that Dad stole cars a lot more, but… I felt like he trusted me and, if he was gonna trust me, then I had to start taking everything seriously." 

"Dean," Cas says, his voice serious and imploring, "I need you to help me." 

Dean's staring because he's pretty sure what they got out of this evening is that _Dean_ is the one that needs help. He's driven the only good thing in his life away and he's cried (and it's just frigging wonderful that Cas bore witness to that, too) and he's got angry and his yelled and started spilling his guts about his freaking log book, whilst Cas delivered a retelling of his own history with a look of mild discomfort. 

Somehow, Cas is fine. Dean is broken and falling apart and losing and he sure as shit can't help anyone. 

"With what?" 

Cas turns to another page in the book, blue eyes boring into the pages like they're actually worth something. He feels transparent. He wasn't lying when he said the book was boring, but Cas is also right in that it's a log book of their lives; this is evenings spent with a bottle of stolen whiskey, forgoing sleep to write up all their receipts without Sam's knowledge, and it's him scrimping to get Sam a decent birthday present and new clothes cause everyone else at school has new clothes, and it's him sneaking out to work night shifts without Sam's knowing, and not eating so Sam doesn't realise their nearly out of cash. It's his whole damn story, written out in half assed calculations. 

"My financial situation," Cas says and, yeah, Dean sure as hell wasn't expecting that one.


	10. Chapter 10

It's been three days and Sam hasn't called. 

He's really trying not to be a girl about this, but this is the longest he hasn't talked to Sam for at least a year… and, yeah, he counts the two weeks after the bank robbery as the worst point in his life, rivalled only by that week after their Dad died and Dean had to uproot and change everything (not that having a guy he'd never met before die in his arms was worse than his Dad dying, but the timing of everything tipped that over to the worst), but at least then he had Sam to sham being okay for. He was still most off the rails when Sam had gone missing. 

"Distract me," 

Castiel should tell him to fuck off. He's sure Castiel is plenty busy and has better things to do than babysit and angsty Dean, particularly given that Cas has been in his company pretty much continually for the past three days. Cas was privy to Dean calling Crowley (and going straight to voicemail, because Crowley is a superior bastard who somehow cuts through Dean's give-em-hell attitude and makes him feel wrong footed without even answering the damn phone) and Dean calling Missouri and making an appointment for next week. Cas has had the extreme delight of listening to Dean flirt with Pamela down the phone for thirty minutes, only to have her screw at Dean for being an idiot and hanging up. He then got Cas to drive him to the diner, because – as he said – his charm works much better when Pamela's reminded of his 'sweet ass' or whatever. 

Anyway, it sort of worked, but Pamela isn't happy about it… and it's awkward as fuck making sex jokes when Cas is waiting outside in the car. Plus, Cas has made him attend _all_ his classes (and Dean can't really complain, because if it wasn't for Cas he'd be rotting alone in his apartment, but it's still a pain in the ass) and is forcing him to _study_ by ditching him at the library whilst he goes to his own classes. 

First day, he just assed around trying to hit on the librarian… but Cas' expression when he came back to find all Dean had managed to achieve in those two hours was to get Audrey to write her number on his sling. The next day he got her to bring some of the books he was supposed to read six months ago, which he probably could have reached himself with his left handed, but the girl obviously wanted to be useful. Anyway, Cas had looked far too pleased, so the next day he actually tried reading them… which was progress. 

"I don't know how I'm supposed to distract you, Dean." 

"Oh come on," Dean complains, "It's not complicated, Cas. Tell me all about your family rebellion. So, you finally had enough of their religious differences and Michael being a dick, you jump ship… move to Kansas, of all places, and then what? Build up a liver of steal and sleep around a bit?" 

"No," 

"No to which bit," Dean says, pulling out his cigarettes with his left hand and going through the significantly more difficult of lighting up without his right. He's not technically allowed to smoke in the apartment and, yeah, he wouldn't if there was a chance Sam would be here… but, that's not looking very likely. "Because, Cas, I've seen you take Tequila like a _boss,_ and that's gotta have taken a lot of drinking." 

Cas looks disapprovingly at his cigarette but doesn't comment. 

"I'm guessing you didn't take up smoking." 

"No," Cas says, "And you shouldn't have done, either." 

"I needed it," Dean says, and he's not lying, "you can't win every battle. So, sleeping around?" Cas looks somewhat uncomfortable. Dean sits up straighter and raises an eyebrow at him, because… I mean, _come on._ Who breaks free of a family that is 'controlling' and 'strict' and doesn't fucking _rebel?_ "Oh come on, what kind of nerdy angel are you?" 

Cas has become completely still. 

"Shit, please don't tell me you're a virgin," Dean says, because yeah, there's not a chance in fuck that his only friend that isn't really family could be a virgin. That shit's just not right. 

"No," 

"Right, good," Dean says, stubbing out his cigarette in his make shift ashtray with a grimace, "not that… well, how many people are we talking?" 

He's half curious because he's told Cas a lot about his life at this point, but this isn't something that's ever come up before. He'd pretty much filled in the gaps between Cas moving to Kansas and Cas meeting Dean with lots of rebelling and sex and alcohol and whatnot, just because he's pretty sure that's what ninety percent of the population would do in his shoes. Then again, this is Cas… and now he's thinking about it, his brain is short circuiting instead of placing Cas in any of those situations. 

"One… person," Cas says, and Dean's glad he already put out his cigarette because _frigging hell._

"That's almost as bad," Dean says, "How?" 

"We're not all like you, Dean." 

"Yeah," Dean says, "I get that, but _one_ person? Cas, that's a frigging tragedy. You know what, we're going out." 

"What?" 

"We're going to go out and we're gonna hook you up," Dean says, decisively. 

One person means Cas must have been seriously hung up on the girl, because no one discovers sex and then puts it back on the shelf for years unless that one really fucked them up. And, yeah, Dean hasn't been properly hung up on someone from a long time, because Dean doesn't do relationships or fall in love or any of that crap, but it has happened and the one night stands that come afterwards are an important step in getting it out of your system. Sort of. 

He is _technically_ helping Cas out with his finances, lest Michael cuts him off from the big bank account tomorrow (which Cas had assured him is a very real possibility), which is how he wound up broke and asking Ellen for a job, anyway. Still, this doesn't feel like a very fair deal on Cas' end… because he's driving him around and keeping him company and is basically spying on Sam for him, when all Dean's done is told him to keep his receipts for the next week so I can get some idea of how Cas is wasting his money. 

And this is something he can do. 

He can't get Sam to call him or forgive him. The silence from Crowley probably means that he can't do shit about their financial situation (or, else, Crowley is just enjoying letting him stew) and he probably can't pass college or make anything else right, but he can get Cas laid. 

Plus, it's an excellent distraction. 

Cas is frowning at him. 

"It'll be fun," Dean says, standing up and reaching for his jacket, "and you're shit at distractions, man." 

ooo 

Dean has a hundred percent never seen Cas look so nervous and uncomfortable and out of place, even when Dean buys him a whiskey and tells him to drink up whilst he scopes out the place. It derails Dean so much that he winds up just staring at him instead of looking round for Cas' potentially hook ups, because, yeah, Cas is an odd ball but he never looks this uncomfortable. 

He really hopes he hasn't fucked this up, because this is all good intentions and stuff. He doesn't really care that Cas is practically a virgin or whatever, he just needed to be out of the apartment and somewhere else for a bit. He needed something to do. 

"What about the girl near the door?" 

"Dean," Cas says, his voice quiet and insistent. He's not looking at him. Cas _always_ looks at him. "Dean, I'm gay." 

Oh. 

Right. 

Well, fuck, that sounds about right on the uncomfortable stakes. 

"Uh, well, I probably can't help you then," Dean says, feeling equally uncomfortable round about now. Cas does turn to look at him, now, the edge of something terrifying in his blue eyes. "I don't know crap about pulling dudes." 

Cas relaxes slightly. 

"I apologise," His voice is all deep and formal and reserved. 

"Don't," Dean says, because he's not sure what exactly Cas is apologising for but he doesn't think he needs to apologise for anything at all, and he wants to skip from this moment to more comfortable territory because fuck this conversation is bordering on an emotional talk Dean feels they should have, but he hates that crap. "Two doubles," 

His brain is catching up past the awkwardness (which is difficult, because the awkward is suffocating him) and focusing on their conversation about Cas' family. It's seeming like Michael is a homophobic douche bag, and Dean has a renewed desire to punch him in the face. Jesus. 

"You could have just told me, Cas," Dean says, as the bartender brings their drinks. He's thinking of Cas' uncomfortable silence in the drive here, which means Cas was already going over this conversation in his head; he wonders what Cas thought he was going to do and feels like a dick. He honest to God didn't mean to assume things, and… Cas should know he doesn't give a fuck. "So, this one person…" Dean says, filling in 'dude' in his head, because yeah Cas hadn't specified, "he was your boyfriend?" 

He's not a sixteen year old girl, so he doesn't really want to have the losing virginity conversation, but it's not sure what he needs to say to make Cas realise he doesn't care that Cas is gay now he's already gone and fucked the whole thing up. 

"Yes," 

"Figures," Dean says, "you're definitely the type to lose it in some classy way." 

"Being in a relationship doesn't immediately qualify it as Classy, Dean," 

"Wouldn't know," Dean grins. 

"Why am I not surprised?" 

"You calling me a whore, Cas?" Cas just raises his eyebrows slightly and Dean can feel himself laughing without really meaning to, because Cas is just too fucking perfect. "Well, whatever, I'm pretty sure you outclass me on that front," Dean says, glancing down at his scotch. 

He's pretty sure he was fifteen, the girl was called Emily and that they skipped town later that day, before he had a chance to mention to her that he was leaving. It was at a motel, in the middle of the day, whilst Sam was at school and his Dad was off breaking the law somewhere… so, yeah, neither remarkable or special and definitely not classy. It probably also classifies as one of his more successful relationship type things, which is pretty depressing now that he thinks about it. 

"So, what did the dick do?" 

"I don't want to talk about it," Cas says, finishing his double with a clinical smile. 

"Yeah," Dean says, "I figured. No one just sleeps with one person unless they're still seriously hung up on whoever that person was." 

"Not anymore," Cas says, glancing up at him. He feels better now they've got the eye contact thing sorted again. Cas sort of invades his personal space on a day to day basis, and he definitely oversteps the line of when it's acceptable to stare at anyone, but it's not like Dean looks away and takes a step back – it definitely feels more normal now Cas is back to staring at him. 

"Good," Dean says, clapping a hand on Cas' shoulder, "he probably wasn't worth it. So, huh… this what you meant about Michael not accepting you." Cas winces. "Sorry, man, but I gotta ask." 

"Yes." 

"What a bag of dicks," Dean mutters, angrily, "I'm so over feeling sorry for that douche, Jesus." Cas smiles. "If I ever meet him, I swear I'm sending him straight to hell." 

"That's not necessary," 

"I hope for your sake it isn't," Dean says, "you're well shot of that dick." 

"He's my family," Castiel frowns. 

"No, he aint," Dean says, "I know things about family, Cas. And maybe mine belongs on an afterschool special, but none of us would do that to each other. Okay?" 

"In which case, I seem to have no family at all." 

"Maybe you should find Gabriel and Anna," Dean says, quietly, because he's been thinking about a lot since Cas mentioned it. Especially with this new information about Michael, it seems like maybe he's been irrationally hating the wrong family members. 

Maybe, sometimes there's a good excuse for leaving. 

"Enough with this chick flick," Dean grumbles, because getting out the flat was supposed to make things lighter and easier and instead they've gotten stuck in a heavy conversation about family and sexuality and, yeah, that really wasn't his intention. "You good?" 

"Yes," Cas says, "I'm _good._ " He sounds kind of amused which is a big up from dejected, but probably not what Dean was aiming for. 

"Hey, Cas," Dean says, pushing back his chair, "how's about, if I beat you at pool, you gotta give me a lift home?" 

"You're wearing a sling, Dean." 

"Yeah," Dean grins, "and you haven't got a chance in hell of winning." 

ooo 

Cas is slightly better at pool than previously expected and Dean is probably as arrogant as could have been predicted, because Cas does win and they wind up having a big debate about what Dean now owes Cas, given they never specified. 

Cas wants Dean to promise to congregate a load of conditional verbs, which is the geekiest request Dean has ever received… and Dean wants to call the difference another drink and be done, because he's so frigging fed up French (and he's not failing, which means there's no point getting any better). 

And then the girl that Dean had vaguely considering hooking Cas up with, before the whole awkward coming out conversation, has caught his eye and appears to be heading in their direction. 

He's about to turn to Cas and say something about how his sling is a frigging chick magnet and how that makes zero sense, because how good can it be when he's incapacitated by his sling. And yeah, there's probably a way around it, but it'd be awkward and probably painful and annoying and it's definitely not much of a turn on, but whatever. 

Cas, however, has noticed their arrival and looks pretty damn terrified at their approach… which is strange, cause Cas isn't scared of Ellen (or Jo) whilst Dean most definitely is, but his thought is cut off by the girl introducing herself. 

She's called Trish and she's a waitress stroke aspiring actress and it takes all of two minutes before she's managed to pull him away from Cas enough that Dean can't hear their conversation. Dean turns around to make sure Cas is okay, because the guy looked pretty spooked… then stops short. 

The other girl, whose name he didn't get, is way up in Cas' personal space and Dean's not entirely sure what he should do. 

"Your friend okay?" Trish asks, and Dean isn't really sure what the answer to that is, because he can't get a read on Cas' expression thanks to the girl. She moves slightly and Cas' eyes lock on Dean, and their panicked and unsure and yep clearly Cas can't handle very forward advances and – 

Cas says something that Dean can't hear. The girl takes a sudden step backwards, Dean makes a move to rescue Cas, when the girl _slaps him round the face._

"Oh my God," Trish says, rounding on him just as her friend bursts into tears. 

Crap. 

_"Cas,"_ Dean mutters, grabbing hold of a handful of Trench coat and pulling him towards the doorway because he's pretty sure that they've just managed to gain two very pissed off women and a whole lot of attention from the other people in the bar. "Cas," Dean grins, when they're outside, "what the hell did you say?" 

"I don't know," Cas says, eyes still wide and panicked. 

Dean bursts out laughing. 

Then he can't stop. He's reached out to hold onto Cas' shoulder with his good arm and there's a sudden light feeling in his chest, like he just dislodged something. It's been a long time since he laughed like this and it's been a long time since he's had a few drinks for fun and not because he's trying to distract himself, or sleep, or just numb the feeling (or lack of feeling) that occasionally threatens to eat him from the inside out. He certainly hasn't had this amount of fun with his brother for an age, because he's the responsible guardian and that's kind of shitty because he wants Sam to be his best friend. 

"Never change, Cas," Dean says, still grinning, as the panicked expression on Cas' face drops slightly. He'd quite like to stand and absorb this moment for a while – because he hasn't felt this okay in an absolute age, and all it took was Cas accidentally upsetting some random girl – but Trish standing in the doorway pointing them out to the bartender who served them earlier, so it's almost definitely time to leave. "Time to go," Dean says, pushing Cas towards the car. 

"Ah, man," Dean says, once they've pulled out the parking lot and are well on the way to Cas dropping him off at his apartment (which is irritating despite his good mood because, seriously, he's not a fifteen year old girl and Cas' car sucks), "it's been a long time since I ran out of a bar like that." Cas gives him a _maybe you should have run out of a bar last week, instead of getting in a fight_ look, which Dean suspects is probably fair but a real mood killer. "I think you're a bad influence on me." 

Cas laughs at that. 

"Don't let your brother know," Cas says, "he'll get someone else to babysit you." 

"I haven't had that much fun with Sammy in years," Dean says. It was meant to be a light comment but it came out more like a confession, because he doesn't want it to be like that. Sam is supposed to be everything and admitting that, yeah, his brother is a damn pain in the neck and he hasn't properly enjoyed his company for ages is painful. 

It shouldn't be like that. 

"It would help if you weren't constantly worried about him," Cas says, "but I suspect most brothers have more fun with their friends." 

"Yeah," Dean says, "well, we're not exactly most people." 

"No," Cas agrees, "I enjoyed myself too, Dean." 

"Even getting slapped in the face?" Dean asks, grinning again because Cas' face had been frigging precious. Cas' expression turns a little smitey and Dean leans back in the passenger seat with a grin, before he remembers that Sam's gone and Dean can't afford jack shit. 

Dean frowns out of the window for the rest of the ride home, but he doesn't have another drink when he gets home and it only takes him forty minutes to get to sleep…. So he's counting that as a big improvement. 

And maybe Sam will call tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have an almost happy chapter because it's nearly Christmas! Thanks to everyone who's been reading and stuff thus far, it's lovely to here from you :)


	11. Chapter 11

He’s not entirely sure how Cas is managing to make eating one of Pam’s burgers so pornographic, but he’s definitely managing it and it’s _completely_ thrown him off his game. They’re only in Pam’s diner anyway because Dean gets free food (and he’s very very broke right now) and he wasn’t exactly _expecting_ Cas to look at the burger like it was the freaking sun say ‘this makes me very happy’ and then start eating it _like that._

It’s weird, cause he’s never really thought of Cas as a particularly sexual person. 

Cas is awkward and moody and acts like he’s just fallen out of the sky and is at a loss as to how to react to the whole humanity thing. Yeah, he sounds like he’s chain smoked for years and it’s hard not to think of sex when he switches into French or Spanish or one of the other many languages Cas speaks… but that always seemed kind of accidental. He’s a little too nerdy and he doesn’t flirt or notice when someone’s hitting on him… he’s slept with _one person_ for God’s sake. 

Except the noises he’s making around his burger belong in a porno and Dean doesn’t know where he’s supposed to put those thoughts, and it’s very distracting. 

So now he’s accidentally visualising Cas in various situations making these noises and trying very hard not to say something awkward and inappropriate like ‘so, about that gay sex thing, Cas…. Bottom or top?’ because he’s pretty sure that’s not acceptable lunchtime conversation. Plus, he doesn’t know what he’d do with that information if he had it. 

Seriously, though, Cas is kinda bad ass. He can’t imagine Castiel with anyone remotely camp (he can’t really put his finger on why, but it just doesn’t compute in his head) so he’s filling in the role of Cas ex-boyfriend as some well-built jock type, before erasing that and picking some super smart guy, before giving up and deciding he won’t ever work it out. And Cas probably isn’t going to tell him. 

Which sucks. 

“Enjoying your burger, Cas?” Dean asks, giving him a pointed look that Cas doesn’t really understand, if the way his forehead crinkles is anything to go by. 

“Yes,” Cas says, “it’s very enjoyable.” 

“Good,” Dean says, because there’s not much else he can say to that and he’s not going to be the one to explain that some noises are inappropriate in public because, well, he’s just not. 

And then his phone rings. 

He picks it up and _it might be Sammy, Sammy might be calling him, it might be Sam –_

It’s Crowley. 

“Dean, I’m led to believe answering the phone is more helpful than simply glaring at it.” 

“Blow me, Cas,” Dean grimaces, finally picking it up and answering it, “Crowley.” 

“Dean,” Crowley says, and Dean can just imagine him sat in his office with his legs on his desk, grinning, “What are you wearing?” 

“Shut up,” Dean says, on reflex. Everything about Crowley makes his skin crawl, from his British accent to his innuendo. Normally, he’s quite good at holding up his give-em-hell attitude, but somehow Crowley leaves him wrong footed and awkward. 

“Okay,” Crowley says, and hangs up. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mutters, redialling, “Crowley, you dick –” 

He half expects Crowley not to answer and let him stew for another few days, but he does and Dean’s not sure whether or not he’s glad about that. 

“ – my, my, Dean,” Crowley says down the line, “such mixed signals.” 

“Quit screwing around,” 

“Fine, enough foreplay. I assume you’ve reconsidered my offer.” 

“I’ll take it,” 

“No deal,” Crowley says. 

“What?” Dean asks, feeling something like panic building up in his gut. Yeah, Crowley and the interview was a shitty last resort, but it is also his _last resort_ (because he’s not selling the Impala, he is not selling the Impala, he is _never_ selling the damn Impala) and despite the radio silence from Crowley, he still figured Crowley would follow through. 

“I’m halving my offer.” 

“You son of a bitch,” 

“You’ll have to sweeten the pot, Dean,” Crowley says, enjoyment evident, “How’s your brother?” 

He would very much like to tell Crowley to go fuck himself and his stupid interview, but he’s desperate and they both know it. If he’d been smart about this, he’d have just called once and not begun to let on how fucking desperate he is. 

Then again, he’s pretty sure he told Crowley he’d rather sell his soul than give him a damn interview, so it’s not like he’d have been able to convince him anyway. It’s a matter of dumb luck that he actually wrote down the number. 

“The money is non-negotiable.” 

“I’m quartering it.” 

“Two thirds,” 

“Three eights,” 

“Half, fine.” 

“Done,” Crowley sneers down the phone, “You accept that I’m allowed to twist whatever you say however I like.” 

“The hell you need me for, then?” 

“Permission,” Crowley says, “I know, the red tape will drive you crazy.” 

Dean can see Ron slumping at the forefront of his vision, the life seeping out of his eyes, the blood… the only reason he’d even considered doing a damn interview was to set the papers caricature impression of Ronald Resnick straight; he might have been pretty messed up in the grapefruit, but he wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. 

That was clearly not the story Crowley wanted. 

“Misquotes are gonna cost you extra,” Dean says, pressing a finger into his forehead, “I aint some cheap whore, Crowley.” 

“Two thirds,” Crowley says, “if you throw in a photograph.” 

_Fuck._ All the other papers had photos of him, sure, but most of those were taken by camera phones outside the bank… he’s pretty sure Crowley’s going to require something a little less pixelated. 

“Fine,” Dean says, swallowing back the urge to throw up, “Fine.” 

“Then we have a deal, Winchester.” 

“What now?” 

“Now,” Crowley says, “we consummate. The interview is on Thursday.” 

“I’m busy.” 

“Cancel,” Crowley says, then he hangs up and Dean’s reacquainted with the dial tone. He’s highly tempted to throw his phone at a wall, but it seems counterproductive given his financial situation. 

“I feel dirty,” Dean complains, staring at his half-finished burger feeling pretty hard done by. He’s not even hungry anymore, which is saying something considering how good Pam’s burgers are (even though he serves them our everyday they’re still good every time, which is more than he can say for the rest of the shit tips he’s worked in). 

“I’m going for a smoke.” 

When he comes back into the diner, Cas has ordered them both pie and his loss of appetite dissipates slightly (at least, enough to make room for his slice of pie and half of Cas’, because pie is just necessary). 

* 

The second Missouri sees Dean’s sling, she says ‘what have you done now, boy?’ and lets them both into her office without another word. Dean winds up putting his foot in it (and nearly on the coffee table, which was apparently a bad thought to have) a couple of times and Missouri gives him one of those all too seeing looks that makes Dean want to drink a bottle or four of whiskey. 

He gets the extension. Mainly because Cas sweet talks over his loud mouth, and gets Dean talking about the subject of Sam. Then, course, he pulls out the picture of Sam and starts rambling on about how well Sam’s doing in school before he remembers he made a silent pact with himself not to talk anymore. 

“You _will_ check in with me every week, Dean,” Missouri says, as Dean’s itching to get out of her office, “or so help me I will call your brother and get him to talk some sense into you. And don’t you dare think about standing me up.” 

“She’s nice,” Cas says, as they get back into Dean’s car. Dean stares at him in amazement because nice isn’t the word he’d used (internally, he usually goes for terrifying). Actually, Sam had really liked her (because, of course, his shit of a little brother had insisted coming to his meeting with the college), but then Missouri always seemed to have insight beyond what she should – which is why Dean avoids her like the plague, because he doesn’t need any more Dr Phil figures in his life, thanks – and Sam’s been looking for answers for years. 

“Sam hasn’t called,” Dean says, because Sam’s absence has got physically _painful_ in the past couple of hours. 

He’s done his best at giving his brother some space. He hasn’t called. He hasn’t texted. He hasn’t bugged Ellen continually about how he’s doing (which sucks extra, because it means he’s barely spoken to Ellen or Jo either and they’re his family too). He gets that Sam needs some space, sure, because after that evening with Cas he was beginning to think that maybe he needed a little space too… but Sam’s gotta know that the silence is driving him crazy. 

Cas sighs. 

“I’m trying, man,” Dean complains, glaring out the window, “I’m going to all these stupid classes and I’ve got a frigging extension. What good is all this crap if Sam doesn’t even know about it?” 

“You’re supposed to want to do these things for you, Dean.” 

“Well I don’t give a crap about me.” 

“That’s the problem.” 

“I get it,” Dean says, his chest clenching, “I’ve seen this show before with my Dad, okay? But I just… I can’t. Someone’s gotta cut me some slack.” 

“Dean,” Cas says, turning to look at him, “your family are _all_ willing to make allowances, you are just asking for the wrong ones. Would you stand by and watch Sam develop an addiction? Throw himself into dangerous situations?” 

“It’s different,” Dean says, even though he knows it’s not. He doesn’t like it when people throw logic at his internal truths like that, because it throws his equilibrium off track. Sam and Ellen and Bobby and the rest can’t love him the way he loves them, because he’s the monumental worthless fuck up. That’s just how it is. 

And when he doesn’t think too much about the fact that he’s their family too, it’s easy to hide under his smart ass comments and scratching the superficial itches (drink, food, sex) and happily ignore the fact that he _really_ hates himself. He didn’t even know he hated himself until right after the bank robbery, when he was sat in the apartment thinking about how much he should have been the one to die. Even then, he didn’t think on it until he was drunk and literally asking for a fight, because it’s easier not to. 

After he realised he hated himself he then started to become aware of just how much and that’s sure as shit not helpful in day to day life. He hates the way he takes advantage of Cas – letting him drive him around and take him to college, even though he’s gonna fail and wind up in the gutter anyway. He hates the way he’s never quite good enough for Sam – because if he was, Sam wouldn’t be worried about him. He hates the way he turns to drinking exactly like their Dad did and he hates that he still can’t decide whether he should be obeying his Dad’s last orders or running the hell away from them. 

It’s not like it’s a new thing, either. He hated himself when he dropped out of high school, even if he didn’t acknowledge it. He’s furiously hated himself every time Sam ran away. He’s hated that he can’t save people and that he’s such a screw up that everyone he loves leaves. 

He doesn’t want to think about that, though, and it’s much easier to ignore if people stop challenging his self-deprecating view of reality…. because he was startling to realise the depths of his self-loathing and now it’s difficult to become _unaware_ of it. 

He never thought of himself as someone with low self-esteem. 

“You ever been arrested, Cas?” Dean asks. “Because I got arrested in Maine. I managed to send Sam out the SOS before they got the cuffs on. He skipped his Lit class to make a fake 911 call then ran back to the motel to pack up all our crap. I broke out of a police station and we drove across two states. We were just lucky that he bought my fake name. Sam was thirteen. I don’t deserve to be forgiven for that.” 

“What were you arrested for?” 

“Does it matter?” Dean asks. Cas meets his gaze with a flat expression. “I was shop lifting food. I’d done the same place they day before. Rookie error.” 

“Why were you stealing food?” 

“Well, it wasn’t for my own sense of amusement,” Dean says, “Dad hadn’t been home in a few days and thirteen year olds need to eat. He’d ran off with my last fake credit card. Should’ve gone out and hustled some pool, but I didn’t wanna leave Sammy alone in the Motel.” 

“You were doing your best.” 

“There was another shop two blocks over,” Dean says, his voice low, “if I hadn’t been so frigging arrogant, Sam could have stayed in that school till the end of the semester.” 

“It was three years ago.” 

“Yeah, which means Sammy was _thirteen years old_ making fake 911 phone calls whilst he should be in class. I know he’s gonna resent me and I’ve gotta atone for all that crap I put him through, but I… I need him to talk to me.” 

“You need to forgive yourself,” Cas says, each word punching out of him deliberately. 

“I’ll forgive myself when Sam stops running away,” Dean says, pressing his shoulder against the door of Cas’ crap car. Sam’s presence makes him calmer and he’s not sure what he’s doing without it. 

“I think your father was an assbut,” Cas says, pulling up in front of Dean’s building. 

He doesn’t usually stand for people insulting his father, but then Dean had ripped into Cas’s Dad (and his brothers, and his sisters…) plenty, so he probably would have let it slide even if Cas hadn’t chosen the insult assbut. But, assbut? Dean finds a short laugh escaping without meaning to, his chest constricting around the brief spark of amusement, before he turns to face Cas. 

“Likewise, Cas, likewise.” 

When he’s out the car, he pulls out his phone and types out a message to Sam. He dithers over it for half an hour before he eventually decides to hell with it and presses send. 

A text message isn’t too invasive. Sam can ignore it if he wants to. And, hell, maybe Sam _wants_ to talk to him – it’s unlikely, but he wouldn’t put it past his brother to be stubbornly angry and achingly eager to talk to someone. On previous occasions, Sam has laid down the law that he wants to be the first to get in touch, then anxiously waited for Dean to keep chasing after him. 

Kids only a teenager, so it’s natural. He can ignore the text if he doesn’t want to talk to him, but Dean can’t ignore the gnawing sensation that comes with not talking to Sam for this long. 

_Did u know Cas is gay!?_

Sam calls him within a minute. 

“Dean, of course I knew,” Sam says, and Dean can feel every single muscle relax slightly. Sam sounds fine. Better than fine, actually, he sounds great. “How did you not know?” 

“Dunno,” 

“Just because he doesn’t carry round a handbag –” 

“– Sam, I can hear your bitch face,” Dean grins, “I know the gay stereotype thing is bullshit, Sam, so don’t –“ 

“ – I hope you weren’t a dick about it,” Sam says, but he sounds like he’s smiling slightly too. Dean can exactly visualise all his expressions and, yeah, maybe it’s not the same as his brother actually being here… but it’s good. 

“Dude,” Dean says, “I’m offended.” 

“Dean, it’s not like you have a good track record with things like this,” 

“Things like what?” Dean asks, “This ain’t exactly a regular occurrence. How’d you know, anyway?” 

“We talked about it,” Sam says, and Dean can’t deny that one hurts. Maybe he’ll call Bobby later and ask him if he gives off some weird homophobic vibes, because it’s one thing Cas not telling anyone about it… but why did he tell Sam and not him? It doesn’t help that Sam seems to think he put his foot in it (which yeah, he kind of did, but… it’s not like he could have known without Cas mentioning it). He’s not an asshole, damnit, and it’d help if everyone didn’t actually think he was. 

“Since when do you and Cas talk, anyway?” 

“He’s your best friend,” Sam says, with a probably bitch face 3.0 (it’s difficult to tell without the visual, but he’s pretty damn sure), which usually means _Christ Dean you’re such an idiot_ or something of that calibre. The icy feeling in Dean’s chest defrosts slightly. 

“Huh.” 

“What?” Sam asks. “Don’t tell me that’s news to you.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Dean says, “I’ve never had a best friend before.” 

“Cute,” Sam says. 

“Bitch,” 

“Jerk,” 

“How’s Ellen?” Dean asks, even though it makes his voice come out slightly strained and he doesn’t want to ruin the moment… but he can’t just pretend this is normal now Sam’s actually talking to him, because everything about not having Sam in the room next door feels slightly unnatural. 

“She’s good,” Sam says, his voice slightly tight too, “You don’t have to avoid the Roadhouse just because of me,” he continues, all in a rush, “Jo and Ash are your friends.” 

“I didn’t think you wanted to see me.” 

“Dean,” Sam says, and it sounds like he wants to cry, “It’s not like that.” 

“It’s exactly like that, way I see it.” 

“I miss you,” Sam says, and Dean suddenly remembers that this is the same Sam he taught how to walk and talk; the same Sam that cried when their Dad missed parent’s evening and the same Sam that used to crawl into his bed in the middle of the night because he had nightmare. He’s just a kid, damnit, and Dean should never have put any of this on him. 

He can’t have Sam thinking he’s about to off himself. He’s gotta convince him he’s fine. He’s gotta up his game face, because Sam’s just a teenager and he’s been through enough. 

“I miss you too, Sammy,” Dean says, glancing at the floor of his apartment and closing his eyes, “I’m gonna fix this, Sam, I promise you.” 

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. Dean can hear the tears in his voice and it doesn’t help. 

“But you gotta call me, man,” Dean says, “I need to know you’re all right.” 

“Sorry,” Sam says. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Dean says, “but call me.” 

“I will,” Sam says, “I… I’ve gotta go do my homework.” 

“Damn straight,” Dean says, “I might get Cas to drive me to the Roadhouse when he’s on shift at some point this week, okay? I’ll text you and let you know when I’m gonna be there.” 

He doesn’t say ‘so you can avoid me if you want to’ but the subtext is pretty clear. 

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, “See you, Dean.” 

“Bye,” Dean tells the dial tone. He crosses the kitchen and turns on the coffee maker, because he needs something tonight. He’s gonna finish going through Cas’ shit tone of receipts and make a proper plan about how to convince Sam he can trust him again. 

He gets it. He gets what Cas has been trying to tell him. He’s pretty sure he knows what he’s gotta do, but it’s difficult to know where to start. 

_Talked to Sam. What do I need to do to convince him I’m okay?_

Cas texts back thirty one minutes later, not that Dean is counting. 

_Give up smoking._

Ah, crap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pheww. Update! And Dean you know... thinks about his feelings and stuff. That's progress, at any rate ;)


	12. Chapter 12

“So, I gotta ask man… what’s with the caffeine addiction?” Dean asks, pointing to a pile of receipts which is almost entirely made up of cappuccino orders. 

Dean won’t admit to being good at much, but he’s good at budgeting because he kind of had to be. He’s never found it that difficult to find jobs; he’s kinda of attractive and he’s good at sweet talking employers, he’s clearly desperate and comes armed with a picture of Sammy (the puppy eyes translate well to photograph, which he’s frigging grateful for). He’s not picky, either, providing it pays. Plus, these days he’s also got a crap load of experience. 

He learnt pretty quick that having money coming in doesn’t solve the problem unless you’re aware of the money going out, too. At first, he’d have a vague awareness that pay day was coming and loosen the belt a little too much, only to find himself short three days early and with nothing saved up from the previous week. Cas blinks at him. 

“The coffee, Cas,” Dean says, “You’re spending like _most_ of your money on fancy ass coffee. I don’t even know how you _sleep_ drinking this much coffee.” 

“You drink the same quantity of coffee,” Cas says. It’s weird that Cas can say that with such confidence, but given that the last week they’ve been pretty much living in each other’s pockets, it’s fair to say he’s got a good idea of Dean’s habits. And coffee is definitely one of them. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “that’s because I don’t sleep.” 

Cas frowns at him. 

“Dean –” 

“– that’s not the point, anyway,” Dean says, quickly, “the point is, I drink filter coffee and you drink frigging cappuccinos. Big price difference.” 

“I prefer cappuccinos,” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “so do I, but not enough to warrant the extra money. Cas, on Monday you bought _four_ small cappuccinos. At least just buy a large and be done with it… and if you really need the caffeine, get a double shot. And for god’s sake find a cheaper coffee shop.” 

Cas makes a face. Dean isn’t exactly surprised because the coffee from that place is frigging divine and he’d happily sell his soul to be able to afford legitimate Italian coffee every day, but there’s no one in the market interested in something as damaged as his soul. 

“For the purpose of this, Cas, you’re not a rich kid anymore. You don’t get nice things.” 

Cas looks so put out that Dean finds his resolve to be tough on him weakening slightly, and pencils in one expensive coffee per week on Cas’ budget without comment. He’s knocked a quarter off Cas’ weekly spend without much difficulty because Cas is obviously so unused to thinking about money there are certain things that just don’t seem to occur to him – like planning ahead and buying a large coffee, instead of two smalls. Just a couple of dollars here and there, but it adds up. 

“Dean, you’re experiencing nicotine cravings.” 

“Dude,” Dean complains, setting down his pen (which he’s been distractedly tapping on the desk ever since he remembered he really wanted a cigarette ten minutes ago) with a grimace, “don’t _mention it._ ” 

“You’re more irritable than normal and you keep fidgeting.” 

“I’m aware, Cas.” 

“I’m sorry,” Cas says, and Dean isn’t entirely sure whether he’s apologising for guilt tripping Dean into giving up smoking, the fact that he’s itching for a cigarette, or bringing up the whole thing in the first place. He’s not really giving up, either; he’s just cutting down or whatever. He can’t deal with a lack of Sam and going cold turkey when cigarettes and an absence of Sam are so closely interlinked. 

“I used to work in a coffee shop,” Dean says – anything to change the damn subject, because honestly he needs a cigarette more than he can explain and Cas is frigging useless – “crap job. You know how damn picky people are about their coffee? This one guy came in every day and asked for a large, soy milk cappuccino with an extra shot and no chocolate sprinkled on top. What kind of soulless dick has a cappuccino _without_ the chocolate?” 

“Those allergic to chocolate?” 

“Smart ass,” Dean comments, “You eat out too much, but I guess that’s my fault. Next week I’ll cook.” “You’re not working tomorrow,” Cas says, “do you need a ride anywhere?” 

“Nah,” Dean says, “I’ll just sit around the apartment all day.” 

“Dean,” Cas says, mouth folding into an irritated line, although Dean’s not entirely sure what he’s done wrong this time. “Sam will be more convinced you’re beginning to take your own needs into account if you actively do something you enjoy on your day off.” 

“I can’t just let you drive me around everywhere, Cas,” Dean says, “and I’m actively gonna watch crappy TV.” Cas gives him a look that signals marathon watching Dr Sexy probably isn’t going to impress Sam, but then again he’s got an extension for his exams, turned up to all his classes, started studying and cut down on cigarettes… and Sam’s none the wiser of any of it. Unless, course, Sam’s getting fed updates from Cas which he wouldn’t find surprising (although plenty depressing). 

“I’m good,” Dean says, hunching up his shoulders, “I ain’t putting you out.” 

“What do you want to do, Dean?” 

“Finish having this conversation,” 

“Dean.” 

“You gonna bust my ass till I think of something?” Dean frowns, glancing down at the pile of receipts for a minute, “You should be trying to save money on gas, not wasting it on me.” 

“I hardly think ensuring my friend is both able to pass his exams and pay for his medical bills is a waste.” 

“Well, driving me places that I just feel like going to is,” 

“So you do have somewhere in mind.” 

“I’d like to go see Bobby, all right?” Dean says, feeling his face burn slightly. He hasn’t seen Bobby since he got out of hospital, which sucks all round given he can’t see Ellen or Jo either; he’s been cut off from his whole extended family and it makes him feel a bit disconnected and weird. He knows Sam said he could pop down to the Roadhouse, but he’s not sure if he can face Sam being so near and still avoiding him. “But its way out of your way, Cas, and it’s your weekend too.” 

“You work at Bobby’s?” 

“Yeah,” Dean breathes, “yeah, but I mean… Bobby’s the closest thing to a father I got.” He’s beginning to think that maybe Bobby was an infinitely better father figure than his own, but that’s a whole separate kettle of fish. Cas raises his eyebrow in a clear _tell me more_ way that Dean’s begun to get used to. “He taught me how to fix cars so I could take care of the Impala and put us up when Dad was drunk or missing,” he can feel his voice tighten because damn he misses Bobby, which is all kinds of dumb, “haven’t talked to him for a couple of weeks.” 

“Why?” 

“He’s gonna be mad, Cas,” Dean says. 

“How do you know?” 

“Because he should be mad, damnit. Cas, I landed myself in hospital when I’ve got Sam to look after. I messed up so bad Sam’s pissed off to Ellen’s and now I’m damn useless and probably can’t even help out at the garage.” 

“Have you asked him?” 

“Stop talking to me like I’m a kid,” Dean snaps, because he’s been ignoring Bobby’s phone calls and not listening to the answerphone messages for the past week, but that doesn’t mean he needs Cas treating him like he’s just finished preschool. “Yeah, I get it, I should’ve called and told him to come visit or whatever but I didn’t so it’s done.” 

“I’ll pick you up at eleven tomorrow.” 

“Fine,” Dean retorts, shoving Cas’ new budget at him feeling slightly vicious, because he’s a monumental fuck up and that’s how he reacts to this emotional crap. 

(He kind of gets what Cas was probably thinking about getting at, too, because barricading himself away from his family – one of the few things that makes him happy – is pretty damn illogical. He could write off not calling Ellen as trying not to interfere with Sam, but there aren’t enough decent excuses left as to why he’s hasn’t called Bobby. This self-destruction thing is pretty exhausting). 

That night, he listens to Bobby’s answerphone messages. He’s not mad. At least, he wasn’t in the first message, even if the last ends with a pretty irritated ‘do I look like a ditchable prom date to you?’ He calls him and tells him to get his finest car ready, because his performance of one man mechanics is gonna be incredible. Ellen is equally as prissy (‘you better put me on speed dial, kid’) but softens pretty quickly and doesn’t mentions Sam. Jo has a go at him for forcing her into working extra shifts. Cas, who happens to be on shift that night too, drifts over to the phone and tells him to get some sleep (and it’s frigging hilarious how much that makes him sound like a worried boyfriend, but whatever), he sounds pleased that Dean’s finally got his head out of his ass and called his family, though. 

Sam doesn’t come on the line. Dean tells himself that’s because his brother is having an early night, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t believe it. 

* 

“Bobby,” Dean says, stepping out of Cas’ car and crossing over the messiest bit of Bobby’s backyard with a grimace, “you know Cas.” 

“We’ve met,” Bobby agrees, “dunno what good you think you’re gonna do with one arm, y’idjit.” 

“Better than you could do on your best day, old man,” Dean grins, clapping Bobby on the shoulder with his left hand, “what have you got for me?” 

“I take it y’skipping the lecture,” Bobby grunts, walking back inside with Dean in his wake. He should probably check in with the other guys that work at Bobby’s, but he’s not sure he feels all the sociable – plus, he hasn’t got a damn clue why Bobby employs Garth, even if he does grow on you. 

“I’ll take a beer though,” Dean says. 

“Will you now?” Bobby mutters, grabbing him one all the same. “You drink beer, boy?” He asks Cas. Dean feels slightly nervous all of a sudden, because he really wants Cas and Bobby to get along and he’s not entirely sure how that would even work. Like he told Sam, he’s never had a best friend before (and he’s not really sure how or when Cas took on that roll, anyway), but the idea of more people not getting on is pretty stressful. 

“I do,” Cas says. Bobby hands him a beer with a grunt which is near enough approval to take the edge of Dean’s worry and then Bobby starts telling him about the cars he’s got in, and that’s enough to take his mind off Cas completely. 

“Oh, she’s beautiful,” Dean grins, stepping back out into the yard with beer in hand. 

“Yeah, she’s a beauty all right,” Bobby agrees, “shame her owner is the biggest damn asshole I ever met.” 

“Happens a lot,” Dean says, because nearly everyone he’s met who has a car this beautiful has more money that he’s ever had in his life and is usually all too happy to wallow in it. Plus, he’s always predisposed to hate people who have so much when he’s been struggling his whole damn life. Even though he has the Impala, which is the best car ever and his, but that’s completely different. 

Bobby raises his eyebrow at him. 

“How is the Impala?” 

“Baby’s the exception,” Dean says, “I’m awesome.” 

Bobby grunts. 

“I aint paying you for standing around looking pretty,” Bobby says, “if you’re gonna work on the car, work on the damn car.” 

“Yeah, all right grumpy,” Dean grins, even though he’s not entirely sure how his one armed mechanic show is gonna work. He’s sure he can manage. Bobby rolls his eyes and mutters an insult under his breath, before trudging back inside. “You good, Cas?” Dean asks, because he’s not really sure what Cas is supposed to do whilst he’s messing around under this beauty. 

Cas is just watching him, so he takes that as confirmation that Cas is just fine. 

He puts on the radio and feels slightly lighter already. Working on cars had been one of his only pleasures for years. He understands cars. He understands how they work and he can pick them apart and piece them back together again, bit by bit. He can look at a car’s engine and then do something to make her run better, smoother. They’re a hell of a lot more simple to understand than people and they’re much more loyal too. 

Bobby taught him how it all worked years ago. He’d gleamed some knowledge off his father, but Bobby was the real expert… which meant it was one of those bits of Dean’s childhood that wasn’t tainted by his father in some way, so he could still enjoy it just as much as he had done previously. 

Sam doesn’t get it, but Sam has his geek stuff and his history clubs and Dean had cars and he always liked it like that. 

* 

He’s finding the one-handed mechanic stuff okay, even though it makes everything slower and more awkward; he can’t be frustrated, though, because he’s marginally better at dealing with this one handed than the rest of the world one handed. 

He pushes himself out from under the car to find that Cas has gone – probably drifted inside with a book, or something – and Bobby has come out with another beer. 

“Could do with a spanner, Bobby.” 

“I ain’t your damn slave.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m down one arm.” 

“Cry me a river,” Bobby mutters, but hands him the spanner anyway, “I should’ve made you stay after your Daddy died,” Bobby says, and Dean’s suddenly glad that he’s half sat under the car because these sorts of conversations are always a lot easier when he’s not facing them head on. “Day you smashed up the Impala, should’ve insisted y’stuck around for a couple more months. We all knew you weren’t right, boy. I got my own Daddy issues. I know how it is.” 

“It’s fine, Bobby,” Dean says, “I’m good.” 

“No you aint,” Bobby counters, “and it’d help everyone if you’d just admit it. I aint saying you got no right to be mixed up in the grapefruit, cause God knows you’ve had more than your fair share of crap swung your way… just wish I’d done something sooner.” 

“Bobby…” 

“You boys are the best damn thing that ever happened to me.” 

Dean thinks he could probably say the same about Bobby. He has vague memories of Bobby taking him to the park to play catch ‘like the other snot nosed jerks’ when he’d already taken on the responsibility of making sure Sam was fed and watered (and washed) because their Dad was already slipping. 

“I aint got much to be proud of.” 

“Sammy’s smart,” Dean says, “he’s gonna do really good, Bobby.” 

“I ain’t talking about Sammy,” Bobby says, his voice crossing over to angry and frustrated for a split second, “I’m talking about you, Dean.” 

Dean can feel all his refutes circling in the back of his brain, even though he knows better than to venture them out loud. Dean’s not a good person. He’s broken laws (and quite a lot of them, too) and not just to steal Sam so food and whatever, but serious laws that are there to protect people. He’s listened to shitty orders and acted on them anyway. He’s got his GED and a bucket load of experience working at slightly seedy diners, bars and wherever else would take him…but that’s it. Those are his highlights and it doesn’t add up to a very impressive picture. 

“Aint many kids can do what you do,” Bobby says, “looking after your brother like that.” He’s not looking after Sam right now. “I just don’t know when you’re gonna get through your _damn_ head that it aint your job.” 

Dean sits up. 

“Drop it, Bobby,” 

“I aint talking to make myself feel better,” Bobby says, his voice rising, “Cut yourself some slack, Dean. You got no business running yourself to the ground when you should be getting out and having a damn life and stop putting all the blame on yourself.” 

“It’s _on_ me.” 

“No it aint,” Bobby counters, frustration bubbling up in his voice, “you think I aint got regrets? I should’ve filed for custody day your Daddy left you to look after a five your old kid alone. Only reason I didn’t is cause I didn’t fancy myself as much of an alternative. Day after you disappeared Ellen was trying track you all down, get you back at the Roadhouse until your Dad sobered up,” 

That’s not the way it happened. Ellen was so _angry_ at John, at Dean, because her husband had been arrested… and Bobby wasn’t ever some lacklustre father figure…and it’s all rushing in his ears because, yeah, _someone should have been helping him out._ If only for Sammy’s sake. 

Sammy deserved better than some teenager shamming at being an adult. 

“And maybe if we stepped in sooner your Daddy might have snapped out of his damn rut. I won’t insult you saying he was a bad man, cause he weren’t, but he messed you up good and proper.” Bobby’s hand comes to rest on his left shoulder, bringing him back into the present with a jolt. “Sam aint leaving cause he wants to, Dean,” Bobby says, voice low and serious, “it’s a damn intervention… and it’s about time one of us intervened.” 

“Good talk,” Dean says, dropping his spanner and trudging back up to the house for a little bit of distance. He’d like to go sit in the Impala and breathe, but the Impala’s way back at his apartment and he’d rather have a long chat about his feeling than sit in Cas’ excuse of a car. 

He accidentally finds Cas in Bobby’s study, which is all full of dusty books that Dean’s not even sure that Bobby can read, but Cas has one prized open and is reading it with a curious, other worldly expression that Dean’s begun to get used to. 

“That a Latin car manual?” 

“Arabic,” Cas says, because of course it is and of course Cas recognises that (he remembers Cas telling him that that learning Arabic as a part of his theology degree was what pushed him towards language in the first place), “it’s interesting.” 

“You working at the Roadhouse tomorrow night?” 

“Yes,” 

“I’m tagging along,” Dean says, going to get himself another beer. He’ll text Sam and tell him he’ll be there tomorrow, but for now he’s gonna finish fixing up that frigging beautiful car. And later he’s gonna convince Cas to let him introduce him to some decent movies (because the guy’s clueless). They’re gonna get drunk off Tequila watching Star Trek because why the fuck not?


	13. Chapter 13

The Roadhouse closes early on a Sunday. 

Dean’s been there pretty much all day because Cas is on shift and he’s trying his damnest to spend some quality time with Sam. Sam, though, spent most of the day out with one of his friends (and he’s doing his best not to nag about _who,_ cause he’s walking on thin ice here) but he didn’t seem pissed when he came in find Dean playing Ash at pool left handed (he was still winning, because Ash says Sunday is a day made for drinking excessively even though it isn’t Friday night anywhere). 

Now, though, he and Sam are sitting round one of the tables playing cards while Cas grumpily stock takes, which is the only part of bartending he’s actually any good at. Dean has discovered that Cas gets prickly when he hasn’t slept much, and given he spent Saturday night introducing him to the joys of pop culture, Cas’ face is scrunched up into displeasure in a way that makes Dean want to smile for no reason. 

“Mom said you were playing cards,” Jo says from the doorway, pulling up a seat and falling into it, “how’s the stock take, Cas?” 

“Don’t make him lose count,” Dean snorts, “he’s tried and he gets prissy.” 

“You keep him up all night?” Jo grins. 

“Don’t got assuming that’s on me,” Dean says, plucking the cards from Sam’s hand even though their halfway through a round (which may be because he’s losing, not because he’s going to deal Jo in, but Sam’s resulting bitch face is hilarious). “Cas has got a wild social outside this bar. He’s got a library card and everything.” 

“I wasn’t doubting Cas,” Jo grins, “you’re the one with no friends, Winchester.” 

“I got friends,” Dean counters, “I’ve got a shit tonne of friends.” 

“Name five,” 

“Cas, Ash, Sam, you… Charlie.” 

“Who’s Charlie?” Sam asks, glancing up from the deck of cards Dean’s dealing curiously. It’s a pretty tragic state of affairs that this is the grand total of his friends, and Charlie is clutching at straws a little anyway (given their entire acquaintance now spans the length of three shifts at the diner), but it’s not like Jo has an overloaded contacts list. Sam’s the one with friends. 

“New girl at work.” 

“You slept with her yet?” 

“I’m not her type,” Dean counters, spreading his cards out into a fan. 

“And I thought you were everyone’s type,” Jo says, dropping a seven down onto the pack in the middle. 

“I haven’t got breasts,” Dean says, “maybe you should try, Joanna Beth.” 

“So, she’s nice?” Sam asks, eagerly. It’s pretty sad that Sam’s so obsessed with him actually gaining a social life and he finds his gaze drifting to Cas for a second. Cas is, of course, staring at him. Dean smiles because he kind of thinks that this is the sort of thing that Cas wants him to do – make friends and have a life and stuff. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “nerd, actually. Why are all my friends frigging nerds? And she’s almost as hopeless as Cas at picking up tips. From guys, anyway. So I was trying to teach her how to flirt. Fucking hopeless.” 

“How to flirt with _guys?”_ Jo asks. “There something you’re not telling us, Winchester.” 

“Shove it, Jo,” Dean says, putting down a four. Jo grimaces and picks up four cards dutifully. “But yeah, she’s nice. Like the little sister I never wanted.” Jo raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, Jo, the _second_ little sister I never wanted.” 

“Lucky me,” 

“You should take that as a compliment,” Sam says, dropping another card onto the pack, “from Dean, being family eclipses pretty much anything.” 

“Also means you’re cursed,” Dean says, picking up a card from the deck, “it ends young and it ends bloody.” 

“Dean,” Sam frowns, “we’re not cursed.” 

“We kind of are,” Dean says, looking up and locking eyes with his brother, “if you’re in this family, chances are, you’re fucked.” 

“Our Grandad didn’t die young.” 

“He was no family of mine,” Dean grimaces, glancing down to find that Jo’s won and is looking pretty self-satisfied about it. 

“What do you mean?” Sam asks. 

“Samuel Campbell was a dick.” 

“Dean,” Sam says and, god help him, the puppy eyes are coming out. He busies himself a few moments by sweeping up the cards, but he’s thinking maybe this is a conversation they should be having. He looks at Cas again. 

Cas said he needs to talk to Sam more. 

“He hated Dad,” Dean said, “didn’t think he was right for his daughter which was fine, whatever, but Mom could have really used the help.” 

“Why?” 

“Because…” he starts shuffling the deck, sucking in a deep breath, “it wasn’t all rainbows and ponies before the fire. Dad wasn’t always there.” Sam’s eyebrows are shooting up his forehead, the question already forming in the slight movement of his lips. “Mom chucked him out a couple of times cause he was working long hours… he was fucking useless with you. Barely picked you up before he put you back down again, cause you cried like the whiny bitch you’ve always been. Samuel didn’t babysit once. Didn’t visit, either, and it wasn’t like it was a long way to drive. Then Mom dies. I know you got your opinions of Dad, but he was thirty something with no family, no wife, no house and two kids to look after. Samuel should have stepped up to the fucking plate, but if it wasn’t about Mary then he weren’t interested. Said he’d take me and you if Dad got out of lives for good, but otherwise it was a no deal.” 

Dean starts dealing out the cards so he doesn’t have to look at any of them, because it’s difficult enough without reading Sam’s expression. 

“He had a shit time,” Dean says, “he was only trying his best to do right by us.” 

“At first,” Sam says. Dean looks up at him sharply. “At first, he did.” 

“You didn’t need to always give him a hard time, Sammy.” 

“You didn’t need to do everything he ever said, no questions asked, no explanations needed. Just a _yes sir_ and you’d hop to it. Dean, you never stood up to him. _Ever.”_

“After Mom died,” Dean says, giving up on the pretence of dealing out the cards because it looks like the game is over, anyway, “I gave Dad a really hard time. I was a Mommy’s boy.” Sam raises his eyebrows at this because, yeah, ever since Sam could remember he’s idolised John Winchester, so he never knew any different. “I used to sit up with her when she was crying about Dad being a dick, then suddenly Mom’s gone and I’m stuck with the guy who used to upset her. I wouldn’t do a damn thing he said. I didn’t eat. I bitched at him every time he made you cry. I threatened to pack a frigging bag and walk myself to an orphanage.” 

“What happened?” 

“On my seventh birthday, the first without Mom, Dad left you with Bobby and he took me to the park. He sat me down on the bench and we had a conversation.” 

“What did he say?” 

“You’re not gonna like it,” Dean says, glancing back down at the cards and shuffling them again, just to have something to do with his hands, “he said that he was real sorry he’d upset Mom and that she was the love of his life. He said that he pulled you out the flames and he gave you to me to carry out, but he couldn’t get to Mary. He said that was on him, because he should have been more careful. He said that he wasn’t much cop at being a father and that he needed my help to protect you, because he couldn’t let anything bad happen to you. He said that I needed to be better at protecting the people I loved than he was, because he’d messed up, and he needed me to be a bigger man than he was,” Dean sucks in a breath, and looks up at Sammy, “So I could look after you.” 

“Christ almighty, Winchester,” Jo says, all quiet, “a therapist would have a field day with you.” 

“Dean,” Sam looks like he’s gonna cry, which totally isn’t what he was intending with this, “Dean, Dad shouldn’t have put that on you.” 

“It’s history,” Dean says, even though it’s not. It’s his present. He’s not dumb enough not to realise that’s the moment half his issues took route, but for half of his life that was his driving force; he was gonna be a man and protect Sammy and protect Dad. “He was just trying to get me to listen.” 

He stands up, turning his back on Sam, Jo and the cards, and taking a step towards the bar. And Cas. 

When he was having nightmares about the flames licking the house, smoke burning his lungs, his Mom screaming (she was screaming ‘Sammy’ which seven year old Dean took as a confirmation that his Dad was right, and his dead Mom wanted his life calling to be protecting Sammy too), he could push that away because _he_ was gonna save everyone. 

Except he still watched his Dad die from the back seat of his favourite car, blood leaking from the gaping wound in his head, stuck in place by the crushed metal, paralysed and unable to do anything. Again. He couldn’t even save Ronald Resnick, some random guy who didn’t need to die. 

He’d fixed up the Impala but Dad wasn’t fixable and he wasn’t fixable. He was broken. 

“Dean,” Sam says, standing up and pulling on his arm, “It wasn’t your responsibility to save Dad, either.” 

“You know, Sammy,” Dean says, “I think you’ve grown. Only half a millimetre, but maybe you’re finally gonna get tall.” 

Sam drops it. 

“Mom always said you’d be tall,” Dean says, to fill in the expanse of silence and because the thought of Mary doesn’t hurt as much as the thought of Dad, so he can talk about her sometimes. “She bought you home from the hospital and said that you’d wind up six foot, at least. Said you were a _long_ baby. I thought you were some kind of joke – said I’d give you a chance if Mom _really_ liked you.” 

“You don’t talk about this stuff a lot,” Sam says. 

“Only cause I don’t wanna embarrass you,” Dean counters and then he starts to tells Jo and Cas the story about Sammy’s first day of school, because he’s the best brother of all time and he’s the only one left to tell these awful, embarrassing stories about Sam. 

“Dean,” Sam cringes, “it was your fault.” 

“I told Sammy about this kid who wet himself on the first day of school because he was so nervous,” Dean grins, and Jo is already beaming and Cas’ irritated expression has shifted into one of mild curiosity. Of course, this being Cas, hearing about their childhood is probably something else he’ll be decoding and memorising for reasons that Dean isn’t entirely sure of. 

“Best part about it, it wasn’t even true. I just wanted to wind you up.” 

0o0o 

He winds up feeling sort of hollowed out. 

He figures he should be feeling good, because he spent time with Sam and told embarrassing stories and laughed with Jo and Cas and it was kind of awesome. Then, there was far too much emotional talk for him to walk away from this feeling really comfortable – he’s all caught up in circles thinking about his Mom and how things might have been different, and if Dad were still alive and whether that would even be _better,_ and if there was better or worse or just this endless _fight_ to keep going. 

“You know,” Dean says, as he climbs into the passenger side of Cas’ car (which still hurts, because it’s a frigging terrible vehicle, but he’s learnt not to complain when Cas is even slightly a bad mood because, yeah, apparently that’s not polite), “that’s the first time I’ve had a whole weekend off since I was seventeen.” 

He thinks he realised that somewhere in between this Friday and last night, but the thought has been pressing at him since he woke up this morning and realised he didn’t actually _have_ to. He hasn’t had a lie in for god knows how long and he sure as hell hasn’t had the luxury of being able to make pancakes for breakfast and laze around in his dressing gown _just because._

“Did you sleep?” Cas asks, turning his serious blue gaze at him. Dean had sort of figured Cas had picked up on the slips of tongue where he’d mentioned the insomnia, which is a frigging achievement when you figure out how much he works, and was only not mentioning it because he could pick up on the fact that Dean didn’t want to talk about it. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, because he fell asleep right after Cas drove him home three AM to midday, without even making any conscious effort to do so. “But… I dunno if that’s gonna happen tonight.” 

Honestly, he just doesn’t want to be alone. Driving away from Sam when they’ve been talking about Mom and family just doesn’t sit well in his gut. Missing Sammy sort of hurts with an aching awareness of his failure, but also the sharp panicked absence where he’s supposed to be. It just all round sucks and, well, he doesn’t’ really trust himself on his own right now. 

“So I figure we still have another episode of Star Wars,” Dean says, “and I’ll just kip on your sofa.” 

Cas just nods like he gets it, which he probably frigging does because it’s Cas, and drives them both home. It doesn’t even matter all that much that Cas falls asleep ten minutes into the movie (his head dropping onto Dean’s shoulder and Dean just ignoring it because, well, it’s his fault the guy is so tired after all), because just the growingly familiar walls of Cas’ apartment is enough to curb the sharpest edges of the loneliness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long update time! I had the next two chapters ready, I just have had writer's block and thus have bee avoiding writery things. Maybe back on track now? Who knows.


	14. Chapter 14

On Tuesday night, Dean is working the so called graveyard shift right up until closing time. The work’s easy but the tipping’s bad, and usually he avoids those shifts to spend the evenings with Sam. Now though, with Sam temporarily staying at the Roadhouse and him trying to fit in being a one armed waiter around Cas’ schedule, the shift is kind of perfect. 

“Sam,” Dean says, looking up from where he was deeply engrossed in his inappropriate-origami with the napkins, feeling slightly shell shocked. 

“Classy,” Sam snorts. 

“Charlie got folded hers into a pretty accurate vagina,” Dean says, frowning at his piss poor attempt, “I don’t know how the hell she managed it.” 

“Maybe I’ve just seen more girl bits than you, Dean,” Charlie says, appearing with napkin-vagina balanced on her left hand with a grin. 

“Charlie, this is my brother Sam,” Dean says, “Sam, this is Charlie.” 

“I bought you pie,” Sam says and Dean feels his whole face light up, because Sam is awesome. “Ellen cooked it earlier.” 

“Hey, Charlie, take a break. You need to try some of Ellen’s pie.” 

There’s exactly two customers in the whole place, so it’s not like anyone’s going to mind if they take a pie break. Charlie’s got a complex about authority figures, anyway, which is why she’s working at some shit-tip diner rather than getting her second PHD from some fancy university: from what Dean can work out, she’s a frigging genius who used to work for google before they found her making anonymous donations to wildlife charities from the google bank account. Now she’s ‘taking five’ before she faces up to how things are ‘IRL’ and has to get another proper job. 

Charlie scrunches up her napkin vagina and grabs them all forks. 

“So what do you do, Charlie?” Sam asks, blinking up at her with the big puppy eyes. Dean should have known that Sam only came because he mentioned Charlie. 

“This and that,” Charlie shrugs, “table top games, mostly.” 

Dean spends the next twenty minutes demolishing the pie and accidentally occasionally offering strategy advice as Charlie tries to explain the concept of larping, because he’s seeing a couple of holes in Charlie’s plan… even if he doesn’t want to get involved in anything as horrifically geeky as that. Really. 

“You sure you’re not coming on Saturday, Dean?” Charlie asks, “I’ll let you borrow my chainmail.” 

He’s so tempted. 

He’s saved from trying to convince himself he’s _not_ going larping (except maybe it’d be kinda fun?) by the arrival of a couple of customers. 

“This is your moment, Charlie,” Dean grins, “Go ask whether or not he works out.” 

Charlie throws her napkin at him and Sam’s laughing and, god, he’s missed that sound. 

0o0 

“Dean,” Sam says, as he pulls into the car parking lot outside their building, “did you pay someone to wash the Impala?” He’d spent the rest of Dean’s shift chatting with Charlie (or otherwise nosing into Dean’s excuse for a life, but it’s all good publicity and he feels better now he’s had his daily dose of Sam) and called Cas to say he’d be giving Dean a lift home instead. 

“No, I ain’t having no stranger touching my baby.” 

“Did you somehow get Cas to do?” 

“Cas is vicious,” Dean says. Cas is kind of bad ass and, after all the shit Dean’s given him about his car, he’s pretty sure Cas wouldn’t wash the Impala if Dean paid him in fancy coffee. 

“So, you washed her yourself? With one arm? You must have looked ridiculous.” 

“Sam,” Dean deadpans, “that car is the love of my life, I gotta keep her in shape. That skank next door gave me a weird look, though, I gotta admit.” “

What about pie?” Sam asks. 

“Well, yeah,” Dean grins, “Maybe pie is my mistress, but the Impala is my _wife.”_

“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal in this state.” 

“The day you move to college, I’m skipping town and getting hitched to my baby.” 

“I think it’s illegal in _every_ state,” Sam grins, “There’s gotta be some kind of therapy for that.” 

“Uhuh,” Dean says, “but there’s societies and shit too. Pretty sure there’s a term for people who love their car a bit too much, if you get what I’m saying.” 

“Dean,” Sam complains, “gross.” 

_“Google it,”_ Dean says, “I dare you, Sam, google it.” 

“You’re a bad influence,” Sam says, but he’s grinning. 

“Don’t knock it,” Dean says, nudging him with his good arm, “maybe one day, when you’ve gone through puberty, you’ll find you’re car-sexual.” 

“This your way of telling me you’re sexually attracted to the Impala?” 

“Nope,” Dean says, “this is me saying I’d accept you even if you were. Acceptance is key, Sammy boy. Although, not the Impala, she’s mine. You can prize the keys out of my cold, dead fingers, but otherwise you don’t get her till I’m ninety and too wrinkled to drive.” 

“Good to know,” Sam says. 

“Your homework tonight is to watch car porn.” 

_“Dean.”_

“You gotta learn about the messed up stuff in the world, Sam. I’m just trying to do my duty as big brother.” Dean says, reaching over and pressing the first of his good arm into Sammy’s shoulder. 

“Whatever,” Sam says, “I’ll leave you and the Impala alone. Don’t injure yourself, now.” 

“Bitch,” Dean says, struggling to undo his seatbelt and push open the door with his left hand. 

“Jerk,” Sam calls out the window. Dean makes a point to pat baby’s head as Sam’s pulling out the parking lot, and he’s grinning even in the moment that the car turns and Sam starts driving away from him. Maybe one day, in the not-so-distant-future, this will be what his relationship with his brother will be like. They’ll just have jokes and talk about dumb stuff, without Dean driving him places and nagging him about work and being the parent like he’s always been. 

The dull numbness of Sam’s absence is still gnawing at his stomach (because it’s so unnatural… he’s supposed to take care of Sam, that’s his job, and Sam’s still not old enough to be left out on his own…), but there’s a light somewhere off in the distance where, maybe, he could still have jokes and phone calls even when Sam no longer _needs_ him anymore. 

Maybe. 

He’s halfway to calling Cas in the kitchen when he realises he doesn’t need to and he only saw him like, six hours ago anyway. 

* 

Sam is brandishing a copy of the newspaper Dean has purposefully been avoiding and he doesn’t look particularly happy. 

“Dean,” Sam says, and then the newspaper has been slammed on top of the bar. He’s sort of working (in that, now Sam isn’t making him stay away from the Roadhouse, Ellen is giving him pity shifts and he’s pretending not to realise they’re pity shifts, because he needs the money), but Jo’s also manning the bar and Sam clearly isn’t bothered by the boundaries of Dean’s shift. “What the hell?” 

Unconsciously, he turns to the place just behind him that Cas usually hovers in (because they’ve been spending stupid amounts of time together, as Dean is an invalid and Cas has an apparent desire to be an amateur chauffer and has too much heart for his own good), except Cas isn’t there because he’s in one of the booths with a scotch and his homework equivalent. 

“Sam,” Dean says, his chest tightening slightly. He hates it when Sam is mad at him, damnit, but he’s not gonna feel bad about this one – if Sam understood even half of the shit Dean would be prepared to do, and has done, in order to keep them afloat then he’d understand that selling this little portion of his soul isn’t that big a deal. 

He’d sell his whole soul for Sam, if his soul was worth enough for someone to want to buy it. 

“Dean,” Sam says, blinking puppy dog eyes (and his he starting to grow, at long freaking last?), “Dean, you wouldn’t even talk to _me_ about this.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, and he doesn’t want to think about that fucking awful interview with Crowley. He especially doesn’t want to think about whatever Crowley wrote in the god damn interview. He’d questioned the police enough to know that Ronald Resnick was an single, orphaned, only child (probably part of the reason why his grapefruit was so mixed up because, Jesus, he didn’t seem to have anyone at all), but that made it worse in some respects; maybe no one was left to get offended about whatever Crowley had made up, but that meant there was no one left to defend Ron’s memory. 

“Is any of this even true?” 

“I don’t know, Sammy, I haven’t read it,” Dean retorts. He’d received a copy, courtesy of Crowley (who probably found the whole thing just hilarious), and he’d passed it over to Cas to read with a single cursory glance at the front cover. In fact, he’d passed over the responsibility of dealing with Crowley to Cas completely, in return for Dean advertising Cas’ tutoring services to the few people he knew in his college classes. 

Maybe he hadn’t exactly made friends, but his sudden improvement in his ability to actually do _French_ seemed enough that Cas now had a few too many people paying for tuition. 

Still, he didn’t have to give up his fancy coffee under the new arrangement. 

“How can you not have read it? What if his family reads it?” 

“He doesn’t have any family,” Dean snaps. He knows this, in part, because he’d asked the police. He’d also sat by the guy’s hospital bed for thirty minutes (during in which he very much wanted to die, because goddamn he should have been able to save someone like Ronald Resnick) and harassed the nurse for some details about next of kin, so there was someone he could make it up to. Eventually, the woman had snapped at him and told him _there isn’t anyone_ and he’d been chucked out so they could take the body to the morgue. 

“Dean,” 

“Fuck, Sam, do you understand how much those goddamn pain meds you insisted on cost?” 

Sam visibly recoils. 

Dean can feel a sickly feeling of shame dislodging and expanding in his chest. These are the things he doesn’t want Sam to know about him. Intrinsically, he knows that Sam knows that Dean’s hands aren’t exactly clean… he got caught up in some of Dad’s stuff, and he helped out on a few jobs for Gordon… but, he doesn’t like Sam’s awareness of these facts. Once upon a time, Sam Winchester had idolised their father… and their Dad had lost that, completely. Dean’s already lost a lot of Sam’s respect, but he can feel the last of it siphoning away with that latest declaration; Sam has been able to justify bits and pieces that Dean has stolen, because from big chain stores it doesn’t seem like anyone really loses out… but here, someone loses out. 

Ronald Resnick loses. 

“I can’t believe you, sometimes,” Sam says, and he sounds like he might cry. He slams into Ash on his way to storming upstairs, and Dean throws his dishcloth at the bar feeling vindicated and shitty. 

Jo doesn’t say anything. 

Clearly, she agrees with Sam. 

* 

Dean’s loudly and obnoxiously flirting with Pamela in the kitchen, because Sam hasn’t talked to him in like a week and Cas asked to borrow his Dad’s Journal/Dean’s log of finances so, obviously, he doesn’t trust the bits of advice Dean offered to him over the dozens of coffee dates (but, not dates, obviously) scattered across the past few weeks. 

“Your brother’s here,” Charlie says, leaning into the kitchen and raising her eyebrows, “And the dreamy one.” 

“She means Cas,” Dean says in answer to Pam’s raised eyebrows, before his heart skips a beat because _Sam._ He’s fully aware that he’s stupidly co-dependent and entirely too emotionally invested in his brother, but… it’s a tough habit to break, particularly when it involves trying to convince himself that putting his brother first is wrong. 

“I was trying to explain fanfiction to Cas,” 

“God, I barely understand that,” Dean mutters, “good luck with Cas.” 

“He got lost at shipping.” 

“How long have they been out there?” 

“How long has your fine ass been clogging up my kitchen, Winchester?” Pam asks, waving him out, “get going. See you tomorrow.” 

“And Sam’s reading this brown leather journal thing?” 

“What?” Dean asks, blinking. 

He steps back out into the front of the dinner and has about thirty seconds to appreciate the fact that, yeah, his brother is reading his journal (goddamn it, Cas), before Sam is up and crossing the dinner and throwing himself at him. 

The hug, which is more Sam clinging to him for a few seconds before letting go, is shortly followed by one of those _too-precious-for-this-world_ expressions that are both equally frustrating and affection inspiring, depending on the mood his in at the moment of delivery. 

“You’re not supposed to read that,” Dean says, voice gruff with permission. “You… Sam, I got this sorted.” 

He’s always wanted Sam to feel secure in the way that he never did (because homes burnt down and father’s left, but Dean was supposed to be that stagnant steady force that anchored Sam’s childhood to something solid) and all his failings are listed in that book. Every month they almost didn’t tie over, every time Dean had to nick peanut butter and bread to make sure Sam had lunch…. Every shortcut and back alley that Dean shouldn’t have taken is scribbled down, even if it’s just in code. 

“Yeah,” Sam says, “I… I see that.” It’s not sarcastic or even scathing. Sam is serious. Sam has read about how they just about scrape by and, instead of worrying about it, he’s just nodding and agreeing that Dean has it covered. 

Dean manages to breathe and fall into the seat opposite his brother. 

“You worked out the system?” 

“Think so,” Sam says, and then Sam begins pointing out the different columns and colours and the calculations in the margin and they’re talking about this month, back when Dean was 18, when they got to the end of the month with nothing surplus but twenty bucks. It’s Cas’ method of getting him to talk about his family all over again and, maybe, he’s not ready to talk about proper feelings and stuff with Sam… but this is a start. 

“I didn’t realise.” 

“That we were barely managing?” 

“That you had such a system,” 

Sam’s finger is hovering over a page where Dean snuck out and worked extra nightshifts in order to buy Sam a birthday present, and he’s uncomfortably aware of the weariness pressing in from his eyes and the bone tired feeling of being overworked, all the time, and that maybe Sam is properly seeing how hard Dean has been trying for the first time. 

“You wanna come over and watch a film with me and Cas?” Dean says, “I have the rest of the night off.” 

“It’s nine PM,” Sam says, frowning. 

“I know it’s a school night, Sammy,” Dean grins, “but I’m your legal guardian and I say sack off sleep and let’s watch a western.” 

“No, I mean… finishing at nine isn’t a night off, Dean,” Sam says, standing up and tucking the journal under his elbow, “Especially when you’re injured and you have exams.” 

“I’m not working till the afternoon tomorrow, Sammy, it’s fine.” Dean returns, heading for the door and nodding at Cas to let him know that Dean doesn’t completely hate him, even if giving Sam the journal was a totally douchebag move. Clever, but douchebagy. 

“But you have college,” Sam says. “Shouldn’t you… be trying to get an early night?” 

“If you don’t wanna watch a film with us…” 

“No,” Sam says, cutting across him, “I’m coming.” 

Dean grins as he holds open the door for his brother, smiling slightly. 

“One last thing…” 

“Sammy,” Dean sighs, “no chick flick moments, we’re done.” 

Sam’s furrowing through his bag and pulling out his copy of _the newspaper._ Of course Sam had been carrying it with him since their last argument, because that’s just the sort of thing that Sam does. 

“Can I borrow your lighter?” 

Dean reaches in his pocket, but comes back empty handed (except a dollar bill he’d forgotten he had, which is a small bonus) and remembers that he’d chucked his lighter in a fit of nicotine-craving pique. 

“Wrong jacket,” Dean says, lamely. Sam looks at him. They both know he only owns the one leather jacket and he’s pointedly not looking in Sam’s direction, because Sam looks so frigging self-satisfied it’s not even funny. 

“You’ve given up?” 

“No,” Dean grunts, because he hasn’t. He had a cigarette yesterday. He wants one now. His self-control is piss poor, taking about it doesn’t really help, and tomorrow or the next day he’ll give in and buy another lighter. There’s a _reason_ he didn’t mention this one to Sam and why his moody replies had even discouraged Cas from asking for progress. 

“Dean!” Sam beams. 

“Watch it, Samantha,” Dean grumbles, shoving his fists in his pockets and heading over to Cas’ car. 

“I’ll just throw it away then,” Sam says, scrunching the paper into a ball before crushing it into his bag. He regrets throwing away his lighter, if only because it’d be nice to see that particular mistake go up in flames. In the grand scheme of things, he can’t muster up enough of himself to feel appropriately guilty for the god damn article, even though he feels like he should… but, a lot of people have died on his watch, and frankly that takes up more of his head space than a bunch of lies he flat out refuses to read. 

He needs to get Sammy to college. 

He’d do it again. 

“Sorry,” Sam says, quiet enough that Dean can pretend not to hear, “I get it now.” 

* 

Honestly, Dean thinks the place kind of sucks. 

It’s crawling with vegetarians and vegans and health nuts, but they talk Sam’s language (one full of vegetables and different types of soil composite, apparently) and if Sam wants to go nuts over a particular variety of cabbage, Dean is more than happy to stand back and let him. Even if he draws the line at participating. 

“Dean,” Sam says, wildly salivating over a bag of carrots. 

“I didn’t even realise vegetables had different breeds.” 

“How can you not know that?” Sam asks, handing over what seems like an extortionate amount of money for that number of carrots, especially when they look a funny coloured and all different shapes. 

“Maybe I got laid instead,” 

“Haha,” Sam says, pushing the bag of carrots in his direction to have a conversation with an overly enthusiastic man selling celery juice. Dean tunes out of the conversation, pulling out his phone and drafting out a message to Cas. 

_Farmers market V. good idea._

Sam is still talking to the farmer about fresh coriander, or some shit, when Cas replies. 

_Have you talked to him yet?_

Dean types back a no, shoves his phone in his pocket and tries extra hard to listen to some of the crap Sam’s talking about. He drifts out of the conversation again in a few minutes and ignores his phone’s vibration. 

It doesn’t feel right, this. It goes against his instincts, even if he’s talked about it with Cas and Bobby and Ellen and they all came to the firm agreement that it was definitely the right thing to do. He’s just not sure whether he’s doing right by himself or by Sam and he sure as shit doesn’t trust the other’s to give him a straight answer. 

Sam buys him some fruit smoothie thing and grabs the keys to the Impala out of Dean’s pocket. 

“We need to go back now, right?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, even though he feels terrible about it. He couldn’t even manage to clear a whole day free to talk to Sam about this, because work calls. “You got enough greenery?” 

“Yes, Dean,” Sam says, climbing into the driver’s seat of the Impala (which makes him pretty uncomfortable, but baby needed a drive and well… he’s trying to make a point with Sam here). They’re driving for about twenty minutes when Dean’s just about decided that he likes the smoothie Sam bought him and they really need to talk about this, like, now. 

“Pull over,” Dean says, craning to glance at the side of the road. Sam pulls over. Dean steps out onto the road, leaning against the hood of the Impala and taking another distracted sip of his smoothie. Sam’s beside him in a few seconds, which is the unspoken rule that it means they’re going to have _a talk._ “So,” Dean says, “I don’t know what your plans were, anyway, but… Sammy, I don’t want you to think that I don’t want you there, because I do, but… till the summer starts, at least, we all think it’s best if you stay at Ellen’s.” 

Sam stares at him. 

“You’ve got finals,” Dean says, “and it seems stupid to up and move you now. You… the whole point of stopping in Kansas is so you have some freaking continuity.” Sam’s eyes are boring into the side of his cheek and Dean’s a hundred percent sure that Sam’s taking it exactly how he thought he would, how any sixteen year old kid would, as if Dean doesn’t _want him_ there. Dean closes his eyes and forces out the rest of the reasoning, even though he hates himself for it. “And I’ve got exams, too,” Dean says, “and I’m working and revising and I… I don’t have time to do all that and look after you, too. Just for now. I know you don’t take much looking after, Sam, you’re not a kid, I just mean –” 

“- Dean, its fine,” Sam interrupts. 

“– no,” Dean says, “It’s not. I’m supposed to… I’m supposed to look after you, Sammy.” 

“You can do something for yourself for once,” 

“It’s only a few more weeks,” Dean says, “then you’re moving back in whether you like it or not.” 

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, then his face breaks out into a small smile. 

“What?” 

“I just… wow, Dean Winchester, taking his exams seriously.” 

“Should’ve known you’d be fine with it as soon as I mentioned freaking college,” Dean mutters, pushing himself off the hood of the Impala and walking back round to the passenger seat. He feels lighter, nevertheless, and finally pulls out his phone to read the new messages (three) from Cas. 

_Once again, you’re being ridiculous. Sam will understand._

_Dean, your brother appreciates you doing things for yourself._

_Trust me._

“Cas has done a real number on you.” 

“Shut up,” Dean says, taking a sneak sip of his smoothie that Sam definitely saw, “and change the freaking music station.” 

“You know the rules, Dean,” Sam says, lightly, “driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.” 

Dean slumps in the passenger seat trying, and failing, to feel grumpy about the fact that he just travelled a stupid number of miles to look at some vegetables and talk to Sam about his feelings; instead, there’s a happy buzz somewhere in his bones that’s entirely related to the fact that Sam’s driving the Impala, and he’s going to move back in (right after the freaking exams), and the growing belief he has that what he wants has worth and that, maybe, everything is going to work out.


	15. Chapter 15

Dean’s pretty sure by busting his arm and being forced to slow down and fit his work around Cas’ schedule has completely messed with his usual rhythm. He’d been working on the basis that he needed a couple of hours sleep a night, usually with the help of a little bit too much alcohol to get there, and enough caffeine to keep him conscious for the rest of the time. 

Usually, he could manage a late night shift at the Roadhouse and to take Sammy to school in the morning before working the morning shift at Dinner. Post lunchtime, there was the option of attending some of his college classes (or studying to make up for the ones he’d missed that morning), or working at Pam’s until he had to pick Sam up…cooking dinner, shoving a load of laundry on and making sure Sam was home before heading back to the Roadhouse. The finance crap could be done after the Roadhouse, and maybe a bit of work if Sam had really been nagging, before he collapsed into bed, wide awake, until the exhaustion claimed him (which was, more often than not, only about two hours before Sam would wake him up again). And it was fine. 

He wouldn’t claim that he’d been particularly enjoying the schedule, because there was a little too much fake smiling and not enough time with Sam, but he could usually fit extra hours of Sam in at the weekends or, since Sam had turned sixteen, by Sam coming with him for his various shifts and keeping him company. 

Now, he’d had his arm back for four days and he was already struggling to keep up the old pace. It wasn’t even as bad as it had been, really, because he only had to feed himself and Cas had completely insisted that Dean take the mornings off to study for his finals (meaning, instead, he had lunch at Pam’s, worked until the evening, then drove straight over to the Roadhouse… he’s pretty sure Cas was just trying to schedule in more hours for Dean to sleep). 

“Dean,” Jo grins from behind the bar, “you’re not working tonight, angel’s orders.” 

“Huh?” Dean asks, falling into a seat on the wrong side of the bar because he’s mostly too exhausted to argue. “Cas?” 

“You got an exam tomorrow, or something.” 

“Right,” Dean agrees, because he’s pretty much been trying to forget about that one. He hasn’t sat an exam since high school and, frankly, he’s pretty sure he skipped most of the ones in his final year anyway. His old don’t-care-arrogance routine was supported by the fact that he _really_ didn’t care, and he wouldn’t care now, if it wasn’t for the fact that Cas, Sam and all the others have been so obsessed with the idea of him actually passing the exams. “Could have told me before I drove out here.” 

“Right,” Jo said, nodding, “but you could have also told him that you were disobeying his orders about now working tonight, or something. He’s downstairs changing a barrel, I’m sure he’ll let you know when he’s back up.” 

“You let Cas change a barrel?” Dean asks, feeling pretty dubious about the whole thing. Jo laughs. “Ellen and her bleeding heart, man.” 

“Hey,” Jo says, pouring him a soda, “why you think you got a job?” 

“Decade’s worth a bar experience,” 

“You’re good, Winchester,” Jo says, “but you’re not that good. Five years, tops.” 

“Still more experience than anyway else in this joint,” Dean shoots back, “Why am on the kiddy drinks?” 

“Exam,” Jo reminds him, “So, it’s the big day tomorrow, huh?” 

“I’m doing a French final, not getting frigging married.” 

“That’ll be the day,” Jo laughs, “Dunno what the hell kinda sucker’d marry you, Dean.” 

“Hey, I’m awesome,” Dean interjects, raising a hand in greeting as Cas trudges up the stairs looking ever so slightly drenched in what was probably good beer before Cas decided to take a shower in it. “How’s it going, Cas?” 

“Fine,” Cas says, moodily. 

“Get me a real drink and I’ll tip you a twenty?” Dean suggests, grinning as Cas refuses him in a stream of French. He gets the gist if it, which is basically you have an exam tomorrow, I’m watching you and I don’t want your money. 

“That’s kinda hot,” Jo grins, “for a guy who can’t change a barrel.” 

Dean fumbles around in his vernacular of slightly awkward French to find the words to tease him a bit. He asks Cas what time he needs to get up, casually suggesting ten. The grammar and the written stuff has gotten a bit easier since Cas started guiding him through, and he’s definitely better at all of it, but it’s still not exactly his favourite subject; this back and forth with Cas is never not fun though, whatever language it’s in. 

“L’examen est à neuf heurs,” 

“Très tôt!” Dean grins, “I’m yanking your chain, Cas, I know when the exam is. Although, if you don’t trust me you know what the solution is…” 

“Set numerous alarms on your phone?” 

“I’ll crash at yours,” Dean says, “we can get a pre-exam breakfast at Pam’s and you can test me on the conditional tense. Hell, I'll cook you breakfast.” 

“Dean,” Cas says, frowning, “you need a good night’s sleep,” 

Dean is becoming growingly aware of the raised eyebrows that Jo is pointing in his direction… because he may have just invited himself to sleep over at Castiel’s and then Cas might have made that comment about his sleep and it’s _very much_ coming across as a gay sex thing. 

“Your couch is good,” Dean says, quickly, “I slept on a couch for like four years when I was in high school.” 

“Seriously?” Jo asks. He hadn’t exactly meant to say quite that much, really, but at least it’s distracted her for the very viable possibility of making gay jokes. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “think of it as like a pre-exam ritual.” 

Jo snorts at him. 

“Four years?” 

“Only when Dad was around,” Dean says, “I mean, got awkward on occasions. Nothing like getting a girl half way to your motel room and remembering you only have a couch.” 

“To think I used to have a crush on you,” Jo says, shaking her head. 

“Used to?” Dean asks, and is treated to have a dish cloth thrown at his head. “What’s a guy gotta do to get a damn beer over here?” 

“Not have an exam tomorrow?” Jo suggests, “but hey, you stand close enough to Cas I’m sure you’ll get drunk off the fumes.” 

“Dude does have personal space issues,” Dean says, glancing up at him. Jo snorts and passes him another soda without commenting on the hole he might have just dug himself into, and he kind of loves her for it. 

“You hanging around, then?” 

“Oui,” Dean returns, lifting his drink as a salute. 

It’s been a long time since he’s had a night off. 

* 

“You know, Cas,” Dean says, stepping round Cas’ kitchen to dig out a frying pan that he’s pretty sure has never been used. It’s fancy stuff too. He’s kind of imagining Michael and Lucifer dragging him round some kitchenware department, shoving posh pans and matching plates and fancy ass cutlery into the basket; he doesn’t know what either of them look like, course, but he can imagine them having pretty god damn vicious arguments over which was the right kind of cutlery to send their brother off to college with. Of course, it’s more likely that they just paid someone else to do it or one of them went alone, but he prefers the version in his imagination, “Considering you’re so mad on me taking care of myself, it doesn’t look like you do all that much for yourself.” 

“Dean,” Cas says, looking up at him from his sofa, “I don’t cook, it’s hardly comparable.” 

“Everyone cooks,” 

“I can microwave ready meals with varying success,” Cas says, all rough voice and serious expression. If this were anyone else, he’d be taking the thing with a pinch of salt… but he can imagine Cas trying to cook, taking the whole thing too seriously and getting so caught up following a recipe that it all burnt to ash. Yeah, okay. Cas doesn’t cook. 

“The hell you get still alive?” 

“My… roommate cooked whilst I was in college and I have a wide selection of take-out menus.” 

“Your roommate?” Dean questions without really thinking about it. On some level, he knows that Cas had a real life before he showed up in Kansas and tricked Ellen into letting him bartend with his stupidly blue eyes, but he kinda never pictures Cas as the proper college student. Sure, the guy studies plenty and is smart as fuck, but he associates roommates with frat parties and the real college experience. Anyway, Dean always figured that one of the reasons he and Cas clicked so well was because they didn’t really have anyone except family, family who’d screwed them over to varying degrees, and now he’s trying to imagine Cas cohabitating with someone and socialising and having friends and its… huh, weird. 

“Balthazar,” Castiel says, glancing in the direction of the floor, “Family friend and approved by Michael. After he moved out I attempted it, but I burn soup.” 

He was totally gonna make a comment about the burnt soup, but Dean’s suddenly caught up on the whole _moved out_ thing. If this was a Michael approved roommate, then something must have happened for him to just _move out_. He figure that they just couldn’t live together, but he’s been in Cas’ apartment enough to know that he’s pretty clean, slightly anal about the organisation and not an annoying dick that’s likely difficult to live with. So… what, then? 

“Why’d he move out, Cas?” Dean asks. Cas expression thins slightly. “Is this something to do with…?” Dean makes a vague hand gesture which he’d like to mean ‘the gay thing’ but he’s pretty sure is nothing but a very vague hand gesture. The darkening of Cas’ expression is enough for him venture a guess that Cas both understood and that he’s dead on, though. “Wait,” Dean says, “Was he _the guy?_ Your teenage dream guy?” Cas is silent. “Cas, rule number one. Don’t hook up with the neighbours, anyone you live with, or anyone who owes your money. Or anyone who pays you for shit.” 

“Like sex?” 

“Well, sure,” Dean says, “But I mean the guy who pays you to fix his car, or who pays your wages or whatever. The quid pro quo gets all screwed up, and the awkward reaches uncomfortable levels.” 

Cas remains silent. 

“How do you like your eggs, Cas?” 

“I don’t believe there are any,” Cas says, standing up and crossing the room to the fridge. Dean catches a flash of empty shelf before it’s gone again, and it’s half surprise and half exactly what he expected. A wave of affection spikes up from somewhere in his gut, which his squashes down by sending Cas a look and reopening his fridge. “You don’t even have _milk,_ ” Dean says, “you’ve got like, two beers and … I don’t even know what that is. Wow. Okay.” 

“I do not cook,” 

“Getting that,” Dean says, evenly, “in which case this,” he holds up the frying pan, “isn’t really gonna achieve much. Pam’s, then? I’ll drive.” Cas agrees with a slight incline of the head. “We leave in ten,” Dean says, “get your shit together, Cas.” 

He collapses onto Cas’ sofa, idly picking through the piles of paper’s on Cas’ coffee tables. Most of it’s in a different language, which is what he was expecting, but half of it is bills and the financial documents Dean had been checking and double checking to calm himself down last night. 

“Cas,” Dean says, pulling out a particular document that’s caught his attention, “You know you can probably wrangle a cheaper deal if you sign on for a longer contract. How come you’re signed up to a month by month lease?” 

“I wasn’t sure how long I would be staying,” Cas says. 

“Well, you’ve got your degree?” 

“That didn’t exactly work out last time,” Cas returns, voice stiff. 

“Well, you’re doing good this time,” Dean says, “you’re staying.” Cas doesn’t say anything in response. His silence makes Dean feel on edge, and he glances us at Castiel feeling slightly wrong footed. “I can talk to the guy, push your rent down,” Dean continues, to fill up the silence, “I can be pretty persuasive.” 

“I’m sure,” Cas agrees, not looking at him, “This really isn’t the time to be discussing this,” Cas says, which is definitely a hedge, “We’ll run out of time for breakfast.” 

“I hear you,” Dean says, leaving the apartment contract on the top of the pile, making a mental note to bring it back up again later. 

An hour later, he’s sat in his French exam trying to remember some obscure rule of French grammar that he’s pretty sure Cas taught him, at some point. He remembers Cas teaching him over cheap coffee and a budgeting crisis, with brief sentences of growingly less obscure French thrown in. 

He takes a deep breath and begins to write. 

* 

_How did it go?_

Sam text him, two minutes after his exam was scheduled to have ended. He had a thumb hovering over the pad of his cell phone, about to conjure up some answer that was a little more elaborate than ‘okay’ but said essentially the same thing. 

“Bien?” Cas asks, appearing from nowhere with a coffee. 

“Dude,” Dean says, “No more French, like, ever again.” 

“Español?” 

“Is there whiskey is this?” Dean asks hopefully. 

“You haven’t finished exams yet.” 

“Right,” Dean returns, dejected. “To the library, then.” 

Cas hums in agreement, and he finds himself following Cas in the library direction. He doesn’t feel as bitter about it as he probably should, because he has coffee and he’s one exam down. In a few days’ time he won’t have to deal with college all summer, and he’ll have Sam back. 

Sam. 

_Better than it would have done sans Cas_. 

Sam replies twenty minutes later. 

_Duh._


	16. Chapter 16

Dean hasn’t felt this good for a really long time. 

Sam’s back, and tall, and growing a little bit more every time he blinks (and Dean’s not sure what he’s gonna do if Sam just _keeps growing_ and overtakes him, because he’s the big brother in this relationship). He doesn’t have to deal with college for the rest of the summer and the chances are he did much better than he was expecting too (certainly much better than he could have ever anticipated if it wasn’t for Cas). He has the full use of his right arm again, which has been the subject of plenty lewd comments from Jo that Dean is secretly pretty proud of, but… he can drive again. Ellen sweet talked Bobby into having an end of school year party (which is a damn miracle, but then Dean’s always suspected that Ellen is Bobby’s weak spot), which means he’s got Sam, Cas and a fuck load of beer in the Impala. _And_ he’s got the morning off, courtesy of Sam calling up Pam and using his womanly wiles to talk her into it because Sam is possibly the best brother ever, girl traits none withstanding. 

So yeah, he’d be in a frigging good mood even if Ellen hadn’t shown up with the best damn smelling pie _of all time._

“Shut up,” Sam says, setting down his fork, “Episode V is _way_ better than Episode IV –” 

“– don’t even start that crap with me,” Dean counters, shaking his head, “A New Hope is just –” 

“I suppose you’re dreading Episode VII.” 

“Please,” Dean says, taking up his beer, “Shove that hallmark Disney crap somewhere else. If they douche up Han Solo –” 

“You say that,” Sam interjects, “but you showed Cas Episode I first.” 

“You dick, Cas, I told you not to tell Sam about that.” 

“I apologise,” Cas returns, looking amused, “I hadn’t realised it was such a stain on your character.” 

“Bite me,” Dean’s phone rings. Ellen gives him a look which implies that he better not answer that during family time, which he wasn’t gonna do anyway. “Let it ring out,” Dean says, glancing at the name on the screen for a split second when – 

“– Girl from diner Tuesday?” Jo questioned, picking up the still ringing phone with a raise of the eye, “ _really?”_

“Jo,” Dean says, slowly, as Jo picks up the phone with a grin that means nothing good for his sex life. She stands up, his phone still ringing in his hand. “Hell no,” Dean says, standing up and making a grab for it. Jo grabs his arm and twists it behind his back, grinning. 

_“Hello,”_ Jo says down the phone, in a sickeningly sweet voice that doesn’t suit her. She flicks the phone onto the speaker and Dean prepares himself for habitual family humiliation. 

“Is… is Dean there?” 

“He’s in the shower right now,” Jo says, flicking her hair in his face. Dean groans because, yeah, Dean can totally see where this is going and he was totally going to call her back. Probably. He hasn’t bothered trying to date, or even just have casual sex, for an age. He’s the guardian of a sixteen year old and he works three jobs, so it’s not like he has a lot of time to devote to his sex life. Plus, he’s been running on autopilot for a long time; he’d figured that actually plugging the girls number in his phone and texting her might actually be a step in the right direction, even if his heart isn’t fully in it. Still, fake it till you make it. “Who is this?” 

“Who is this?” 

“Well, sweetie, I’m his _wife.”_

“God forbid,” Dean mutters, struggling against the arm lock without much conviction. He’s only just recovered use of his arm, and Jo if fully capable of breaking it. She’d do it, too, if she felt like it. 

“Sweetie?” Jo asks. _“Sweetie?_ I think she’s hung up.” 

The others are all laughing – Sam in particular – and Dean’s not entirely sure whether he can blame them. 

“You owe me big time,” Dean says, throwing off Jo’s now loosened grip and snatching up his phone and his beer. He briefly considers calling her back and trying to explain, but it’s not like she’d believe it and it sounds like a lot of effort. He’d been about to make some comment about the last time he got laid, but he catches Cas’ eye without meaning too and shuts up. 

“Poker later?” Jo asks, smile slipping onto her face. 

“Oh _hell yes,”_ Dean grins, setting down his beer with a clink, “I’m gonna win me some breakfast in bed.” 

“We play for favours,” Sam supplies to Cas, and Dean feels something warm bubbling up in his chest, “It’s like… a family tradition, I suppose.” 

It’s one of the few things they actually have. It’s sort of tainted and a little bit broken because their Dad also used to play for money (he’s done it too… and Bobby), but it was one of those things John Winchester took home and transformed into something good. They’d play for chores, laundry, the last bowl of lucky charms. 

First time nine year old Dean had dealt out the cards and raised Bobby one bottle of replacement whiskey (given Sam had broken the first one attempting to play hide and seek, and the conditions for being babysat were ‘don’t break nothing and don’t make a damn mess’ although it wasn’t like anyone stuck to those), Bobby had just grunted and let him win. Dean hadn’t figured on that, because his Dad had _never_ let him win anything before, ever, but it was probably in part because Bobby hadn’t liked the idea of a nine year old trying to procure some decent whiskey (he’d have managed). Still, next followed an experiment into what ludicrous things he could win off Bobby before Bobby stopped playing nice and started playing _properly._ As it turned out, that line was reading Sam a chapter of the Princess and the Pea in order to help him sleep. 

Jo’s Dad had, in some respects, been as rough around the edges as their own… so she’d learnt Poker pretty young, too, so it hadn’t been much of a stretch to drag Ellen and Jo into the tradition. 

A couple of his favourite memories involved winning crap off Ellen, or Jo, or Bobby. Even in the intermittent time when Bobby and Ellen were past figures, he still dealt the cards whenever he and Sam had a disagreement about whose turn it was to do the dishes. 

“Except the favours ain’t always worth wining,” Bobby grunts. 

“When Dean was eleven, he raised the pool by one hair cut courtesy of Dean Winchester,” Ellen says, “And Miss Joanna Beth just hated losing, so she wouldn’t fold. He cut her pigtails right off.” 

Dean’s laughing, Ellen’s pulling out a photograph and Jo flicks a crumb of pie crust in his direction. Sam’s beaming and Cas looks included and everything is just so _perfect_ that it’s difficult to remember why he’d try and knock down this house of cards, even if he doesn’t deserve it. 

“Gotta warn you, Cas,” Dean grins, “I am the poker face master.” 

“Can read you like a book, y’idjit,” Bobby grouches, dropping the pack of cards into the centre of the table, “and I aint dealing.” 

“Bobby cheats,” Dean puts in, “we banned him from dealing on Sammy’s tenth birthday.” 

“It was your Daddy,” Bobby retorts and that re-sparks up the pointless argument that no one really cares about, anyway, because their Dad had raised taking out the rubbish and Bobby had raised cleaning the bathroom and he thinks, maybe, Sam offered to wash up the plates from his own birthday cake… and they hadn’t cared at the time, either, but it’s one of those family things that they do. 

And he’s really really missed it. 

* 

“I raise you…” Dean says, glancing at his current opponents – Bobby, Sam and Jo – for a few long seconds. Bobby just raised the pot by a frigging pedicure, which means that play’s already taken a turn towards the dirty tricks; he reckons Bobby’s probably bluffing away a shit hand, but that’s not all that helpful given how crappy _his_ cards are. And Sam’s offered to do all someone’s housework for a day, and Dean wants to see Sammy in a maid outfit polishing the bathroom mirror more than he can explain. It’d be so damn satisfying and he wouldn’t even feel guilty now that it’s the summer. “One kiss, courtesy of Dean Winchester.” 

“Eurgh,” Jo says, dropping her cards, _“fold.”_

“I’m hurt, Jo.” 

“I’ve got this thing called self-respect, Winchester.” 

“You always do this,” Sam complains, turning over his cards with a grimace – and it’s a good hand, too, but that’s what sucks about favour poker, because it’s impossible to tell whether you’re supposed to want to win or lose – “whoring yourself out for domestic chores.” 

“Same as relationships, right?” Dean grins, turning to Bobby and raising his eyebrows, “you still in, Bobby?” 

“No I aint,” Bobby says, turning over his cards with a grunt. 

“Better go get your nail clippers, Bobby, I’m taking the pedicure,” Dean grins (although, yeah, he’s totally gonna try and get out of that one if there’s any chance of it). “What was it you were offering, Jo? Drinks all night on a night of choice aannnnnnd, Sammy. How much do you like bleach?” 

“No one likes a bad winner, Dean,” Ellen says, scooping up the cards and re-dealing. 

It’s been an interesting game. 

Cas probably has the most incredible poker face that Dean has ever seen (although, Dean is totally good at reading his few tells… even if everyone else has missed them), it’s just unfortunate that he doesn’t understand the rules _at all_. He accidentally gambled his trench coat away to Jo (who’d suggested that as a viable favour, because Cas hadn’t been able to think of anything) because he’d gotten confused over whether a straight or a three of a kind was worth more. 

(Dean had won the trench coat back, because Jo was threatening to put it through the shredder and he’s kind of become pretty attached to the thing). 

The highlight of the whole game was when Bobby and Cas had been up against each other, and maybe Dean had been subtly helping Cas out but Bobby was a poker-master so, really, it had to be done… and they’d both gone all in, and Bobby had lost with a frustrated ‘balls’ and one of his more creative curses. 

“I’m done,” Bobby says, standing up, “some of us have to be up at the ass crack of dawn.” 

“Such a poet, Bobby,” Jo snorts, “night.” 

“You keep it down, y’idjits.” 

“Sure thing, Bobby,” Sam salutes. 

“We should get going soon, Jo.” 

“I raise you an extra half an hour,” Jo grins, and the round starts over. 

It takes another forty five minutes before Jo and Ellen actually leave and by then Sam is yawning and decides that he’s gonna hit up Bobby’s spare room, because he’s exhausted and they decided yesterday that they were gonna kip at Bobby’s. 

He feels warm and loose and good in a way that he can’t really remember feeling for years, and he wants to sit in Bobby’s kitchen dealing out poker hands for dumb crap with Castiel Novak until they’re both too tired to deal out the cards anymore, because this is the closest to honest to God happy he’s been for a long time. 

“I don’t know what to raise,” Cas says, blue eyes flicking away from his cards and back to Dean, like always. 

“Come on, man,” Dean says, “anything. Something we’ve had before. Whatever.” 

His cards are crap and he’s pretty sure Cas’ aren’t much better, if the slight tensing of his shoulders is anything to go by (which he’s pretty sure it is, because whilst Cas seems kind of stoic and unmoving most of the time anyway, Dean’s got pretty good at reading him – if only to know when the crappy emotional talks are about to start)… but half the reason this game is better than real poker is that you’re never quite sure which way the game will turn. Still, Dean has his pride to think about and he’s pretty sure he’s beaten Cas more times than Cas has beaten him. 

“Just make sure you’re happy to give it up,” Dean adds, “because you’re going down, Cas.” 

“Fine,” Cas says, angles shifting into a new resolve. _Ahah._ He’s finally managed to stir up Cas’ own competitive streak; he’d been pushing and pushing all evening, because he wants to know what Cas will do and how Cas will try to break him. He knows Sam and Jo inside out, so the game’s not as fresh and they fall back into the same circles of play. Cas is fresh meat. “A kiss.” 

Dean laughs. 

“Seriously? Because, you should know Cas, I never back down.” 

“Seriously.” Cas repeats. 

“This is your last chance to back out,” Dean says. Cas shakes his head, staring right through him. “All right,” Dean says, glancing at his cards and recalculating. He’s been pushed to back down once in the history of the game, and that’s only because Sam _begged_ him too (and yeah, no one really wanted to see Bobby’s amateur strip show, thank you very much). He’s definitely not gonna be beaten by Cas’ piss-poor attempt at playing dirty. 

Besides, he’s learnt that there’s always something more outrageous you can offer. 

“I raise you… a blow job.” 

Cas stares at him. 

“Once in a life time opportunity,” Dean says, “never been offered before.” 

“Fold,” Cas says, his lips twisting into an unhappy frown. 

Cas’ cards were almost as shitty as Dean’s, but not quite. Dean puts his cards down face up and raises his eyebrows because, yeah, if Cas had held his nerve, he’d be in a pretty awkward position right now. 

“Pucker up, Cas, I’m cashing in,” 

“How would you like it?” Cas asks, polite sarcasm so sharp that it dislodges a laugh from Dean’s chest unexpectedly. He’s high on winning and being surrounded by family and Cas’ familiar moody expression. 

“Don’t be a tease,” Dean grins, “get over here and deliver.” 

Cas frowns at him, but leans forward – out of his seat – and into Dean’s personal space anyway. It’s only when registering how _little_ Cas had to move does he register how close they’d been sitting; Cas is a bit shitty with person space, so the only surprising thing is how accustomed he’s become to it. He’s just wondering whether they’ve been sat that close the whole time, or if they inadvertently scooted their chairs closer when Sam, or Ellen and Jo, left when Cas’ hand closes over his wrist and _oh yeah_ Cas is supposed to be kissing him round about now. 

He’s pretty sure that Cas could have got away with a kiss on the cheek, or not delivering at all because there’s no witnesses here or _anyone_ here except them, but – 

Cas’ lips are slightly dry and pretty god damn soft for someone’s who’s words always come out so sharp. They brush against his, lingering for the smallest moment, and every single one of Dean’s instincts is itching to close his own fingers around Cas’ wrist and hold him there. 

He doesn’t. 

Cas withdraws, sits back down and the kitchen is very silent for a few moments. 

Dean should just reach out and grab him and kiss him properly (or at least, a large part of him thinks he should, whilst the other half doesn’t even know why would be considering that) but he’s definitely not going to, and he needs to do something, so he clears his throats and gathers up the cards again. 

“I’ll deal,” Dean says, but his voice doesn’t come out his mouth properly and Cas isn’t staring at him, which Dean really feels he should be doing – it’s like the guys default setting, after all. 

Cas wins the next few games because Dean is so distracted. 

“I didn’t raise anything,” Dean says, dumbly, as Cas cleans up for the third time in the row, “what do you even want?” 

“The truth. Three, to match the games I won.” 

Cas has been spending far too much with Sam, clearly. 

“Truths. Really? I don’t remember agreeing to a frigging slumber party,” Dean says, “all right, Cas, what do you want to know?” 

“The bank robbery,” Cas says, “Sam believes you purposefully threw yourself in front of the gun for the sake of the danger…” 

“It wasn’t like that,” Dean interrupts, hands automatically balling into fists at his sides, “there was some guy waving round a gun and there were innocent civilians all over the place.” 

“You are an innocent civilian, Dean.” 

“I’m hardly innocent,” Dean says, standing up and picking up a few of the empty bottles to distract himself from the conversation, “Yeah, if someone was gonna get shot I’d rather that person was me, but… I figured if Ron didn’t pull the trigger, he’d be given some kind of psychiatric help for the mandroid thing instead of a stomach full of bullets; there’s a big damn difference between Ron, interrupted and a couple of funerals.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay,” Dean says, “next question.” 

“What are your plans for the future, Dean?” 

“Well,” Dean says, leaning back against the sink and staring out across Bobby’s kitchen. He’s been reciting this mantra over to himself since they day he realised Sam had his eye on the emergency exit, and Dean realised he needed something too lest he be left there alone. “I’m gonna work as many shifts as I can the next couple of years, rack up the savings and get Sammy into some fancy ass college. When Sam’s at college, I’ll keep on working so he can get all those books and shit. Summer after he turns twenty one, I’m gonna take him to Vegas to cheat on his nice college girlfriend, lose all our money and sleep in the Impala and shit. After that, I figure he doesn’t need me anymore,” Dean smiles wryly at the spot on Bobby’s wall where a bunch of Sam’s crappy drawings used to hang, because Dad threw a bitch fit when Sam tried to put the up in Impala, “So then I’m gonna enlist.” 

Cas is _staring_ at him. Not the sort of staring that Cas always engages in, because that’s par for the course at this point, but a terrifying sort of staring that makes Dean want to take a step back (if he wasn’t already backed up and resting against the fridge). He looks… angry. 

No, worse, it’s the kind of angry that always sparked up in Dean when John Winchester called and cancelled on parents evening, or one of Sam’s geeky extra-circulars, or Christmas; it’s that self-righteous, disappointed anger of having someone _let you down_ when you honest to God thought they’d changed this time. It’s expecting something better and realising that you were an idiot for ever putting the faith in that person in the first place. 

But what did Cas expect? That he’d sham at having a life, pretend he gave a damn about college and suddenly all the crap messed up in his head would just have fixed itself? That, somehow, he’d spontaneously produced some self-worth? That he’d faked himself into being happy? 

He’s had his Sammy goes to college back up plan for years. Either Sam would sneak out in the middle of the night and run away to college, or Dean would have driven him to college pretending like his life wasn’t over. In both cases, Sam wound up too busy to notice that Dean had gone and done something else dumb. In his head, he’d be deported to Afghanistan before Sam even realised what he was doing and by that point it’d be too late. 

Sam would be fine without him. Really, he would. Dean is the co-dependent one. 

Cas is suddenly all up in his space, one hand pushing his shoulder back against the fridge, blue eyes flashing with rage. Cas is _pissed_ and Dean is categorically never gonna admit how terrifying a blue-eyed trench coat wearing nerd can be when you’ve really put your foot in it. 

He’s about to say something about how it’s his own free will here, when Cas slams him against the fridge and punches him the face. 

He’s numbly aware that he’s probably never going to find out Cas’ third question.


	17. Chapter 17

Dean tries to open his eyes and immediately regrets it. For one, it feels like someone’s suck a knife in his left eye and the wound seems particularly sensitive to light, which sucks, but isn’t as worrying as the fact that his other eye won’t open at all. He’s familiar enough with these shitty kinds of morning to recognise the fact that he’s hungover and has been punched in the face, even if it takes a few minutes for his brain to catch up with the context. Cas. Right. 

He’s also faced with Bobby, who has his eyebrows raised and a glass of water in his right hand. 

“Morning, Princess.” 

“Urgh,” Dean manages, peeling himself off the sofa and, shit, that hurts. “Not what a guy wants to wake up to, Bobby.” 

“You want the water or not, idjit?” 

“Yeah,” Dean concedes, reaching out a hand and folding his fingers around it. Bobby watches him drain the contents, which doesn’t quite drown out the taste of whiskey from the back of his throat, but it helps. Dean’s pretty sure he’s waiting for an explanation here. “Don’t piss off the nerdy angel,” Dean manages, left hand pressing into his forehead in attempt to massage away some of the pain. Doesn’t help. “Ah, fuck, Bobby.” 

After Cas had finished laying into him, he then sped the next twenty minutes trying to undo some of the damage he’d done to Dean’s face. It was plenty illogical, but then it figured that Cas didn’t actually want him to die or whatever. 

He’d been stoic and blank as he pressed a cold dishcloth to Dean’s rapidly swelling eye, split lip bleeding all over the place, before Dean had made one sarcastic comment too many and he’d given up and left. Cas’ lips had been a straight line of displeasure that Dean had interpreted at Cas giving up on him. 

Then, Dean chased down some painkillers with the rest of the bottle of whiskey and passed out on Bobby’s couch. 

“You want breakfast?” 

“Didn’t realise you were such a housewife, Bobby.” 

“Don’t push it,” Bobby gripes in response, “and quit messing up my sitting room. I ain’t bringing your breakfast to the couch.” 

“All right,” Dean grimaces, standing up and immediately regretting it. 

“And you didn’t need to bloody up my only dishtowel either, boy.” 

“Christ, Bobby, next time I’ll watch where I bleed,” Dean mutters, falling into a seat in the kitchen and resting his head on his arm, feeling much more like a teenager than he has for a long time. He’s kinda wondering if this is what his teenage years might have been like had he stuck with Bobby; him getting too drunk and messed up, and Bobby moodily making him breakfast and making him feel like shit for messing up. Except, it’s not the all-encompassing way that his Dad used to make him feel like shit, because that was hollowing and harrowing. Here, he just feels like a naughty kid. 

“Sam seen your shiner yet? Kid drove out to the mall or something first thing.” 

“Ah shit,” Dean says, “Sammy. Why do I always gotta fuck shit up, Bobby?” 

“Beats me,” Bobby mutters, aggressively opening the fridge and pulling out a packet of bacon. Sure, maybe Bobby’s all kinds of moody, but Dean’s also pretty sure the man is a saint. “So you waste a bottle of my favourite whiskey before or after Cas roughed you up?” 

“I’ll reimburse you,” Dean mutters, grimacing into the coffee Bobby pushes in his direction, “for the dishcloth, too.” 

“Don’t patronise me, boy.” 

“Uh, Bobby, can we turn down the volume switch?” 

“No,” Bobby says, “answer the damn question.” 

“After,” Dean says, “and you can blame Cas for the dishcloth, too.” 

“It’s your blood.” 

“I didn’t punch myself in the face,” Dean mutters and, god, how he needed that coffee. The kitchen smells like bacon and bread and Dean’s not entirely sure whether or not eating is a good idea, but that’s never stopped him before. 

“If you throw up, I ain’t holding back your damn hair,” Bobby mutters, setting down a bacon sandwich in front of him before sitting down opposite him. 

“You sweetheart, Bobby,” Dean says, taking another caution sip of his coffee before he thinks about the bacon. “He asked me what my plans for the future were,” Dean says, picking up his bacon sandwich and considering it, “didn’t like my answer.” 

“I’m getting that,” Bobby returns, “well, don’t keep us in suspense, boy.” 

Dean’s throat feels thick. He’d barely thought about his reply before he’d blurted it out to Cas, because he was too high on the moment and too buzzed on one too many beers, and it’s different saying something like that to Cas than saying it to Bobby. And if someone hit him, well, it was better him than some other poor bastard. 

“Told him that, after Sammy turns twenty one, I was gonna enlist.” Bobby doesn’t say anything. Dean’s just processing that, in telling Bobby, he’s completely pissed over any chance of it actually working out. It’s one of the things he’s kept close to his chest for years, because it’s not like he could slip out in the middle of the night and enlist if they were all expecting it; he was gonna just disappear one day, and it was gonna take everyone a few weeks to piece together what he’d done and by then he’d be off somewhere getting shot at. 

With Bobby knowing, he could stop him. His chest feels slightly tight as a result and he’s not sure whether or not he wants to cry. 

Dean takes a bite of his sandwich to fill in the silence. The bacon is chewy and hard and weird, and Dean winds up choking on a particularly grissly bit before he sets it down and looks at Bobby in disbelief. “Bobby, how the hell did you mess up bacon?” 

“Could have done it yourself, y’idjit,” Bobby mutters, “and how long have y’been sitting on this master plan?” 

“Couple of years,” Dean mutters, closing his hands around his mug of coffee, “But…” 

“Y’gonna leave that but hanging?” 

“I dunno,” Dean says, shrugging his shoulders, “maybe it doesn’t seem like such a good idea anymore. You’re getting pretty old, Bobby, you’re gonna need me around when you can’t wipe your ass yourself. And Sam… Sammy might need me to check in every couple of months,” Dean’s staring at his cup of coffee and his gut is twisting “Maybe.” 

He’s not sure whether he means it or just fobbing Bobby off with some line or other, and by the look on his substitute-father’s face, Bobby’s not all that sure either. 

“Well, there’s a damn breakthrough,” Bobby mutters, “Jesus, boy.” 

“Bobby…” 

“Don’t go trying to sweet talk me here,” 

“You know I’m trying to work this stuff out,” 

“Yeah,” Bobby says, “I know, but you’d save us all a damn ball ache if you managed it without getting yourself bruised up again.” 

“Cas is a vicious sonuvabitch,” Dean says, and he meant it to sound kinda pissed off but instead he’s just impressed. Cas has always radiated something which has made Dean believe he’s kinda bad ass – some kind of inner power – but now he’s gone ahead and proven the point. It’s a shame that he proved it via the medium of Dean’s face, but you can’t have everything. 

Bobby’s whole countenance softens slightly. Bobby’s always processed his emotions as being extra grumpy, so it’s not really surprising that the numerous times Dean has expressed a lack of regard for himself, Bobby has half told him off whilst making him breakfast, or defrosting him one of Ellen’s pies. 

“I got sympathy for the kid,” Bobby mutters, “been tempted to give you a bit of colour couple of times myself.” The way Bobby closes his hand around Dean’s shoulder means he doesn’t mean it. His eyes are screaming the insincerity of it, but that’s just Bobby’s way of showing he cares. 

“You wanna get a hit in, you feel free,” Dean says, “I can take it.” 

“Shut up and make yourself useful,” Bobby mutters, “I’ve got a Chevy that I need you to look at out back.” 

“Am I earning back the dishcloth?” 

“And you can call your brother and prepare him while you’re at it. And Ellen. And then you’re going round to Cas’ place to talk.” 

“Bobby,” Dean complains, “I’m hungover as fuck.” 

“Cry me a river,” Bobby says, pausing at the doorway to glance back at him. 

“Don’t tell Sam,” Dean says, half begging, as he stands up and reaches for the packet of bacon, “it…it won’t help anything.” 

“All right, kid,” Bobby says, and that’s the conversation closed. 

* 

He’s not sure whether Bobby meant the Chevy as punishment, or knew that nothing had the ability to slide Dean’s thoughts into place as much as fixing a beautiful car. He knows his way round a Chevy engine blindfolded, so the work was enough to distract his hands whilst giving him time to think, but not overthink. 

“Lunch,” Bobby says, approaching his corner of the garage with sandwiches, grumpy expression reinstated. 

Dean’s hangover seems to have digested most of his food, so after a few hours of grease and car parts the nausea is giving way to hunger. Besides, he’s always been good at eating regardless of how ill, upset or angry he happened to be at any given time. 

Dean takes his sandwich and grabs himself a make shift seat, pausing when Bobby’s sandwich remains resolutely on its plate. It figures that Bobby is organising another one of those situations where he can talk at Dean without reply, so that Dean can’t tell him to shut up or reroute the conversation to more comfortable passages like Bobby knows he would. 

“Been trying to get a read on your Cas,” Bobby says, as Dean fills his mouth with a little too much sandwich, “And I think I got a couple’a things figured out.” Dean makes a non-committal noise through his mouthful of food and tries to ignore the way his lip stings. “He ain’t got many good people, so it figures he gets a bit hot-headed about who he got.” 

“Great sandwich, Bobby,” Dean says, kicking a wrench away from him to vent his feelings slightly. 

“I aint saying he was right to punch you in the face Dean, but I’m saying it ain’t your fault.” 

Dean forgets to be pretend this conversation isn’t happening. 

“How do you work that out?” 

“Cause Castiel ain’t no angel,” Bobby bites back, “he’s a kid with a fuck tonne of Daddy issues and I side order abandonment issues. You tell him you’re gonna try get yourself killed, kid got upset and punched the first thing that breathed. Pity it was you, Dean, but I get it.” 

“Bobby,” Dean says, face twisting, “I should’ve lied.” 

“Shouldn’t’ve asked if he couldn’t handle the truth.” 

He doesn’t even know if it is the truth anymore, but the whole thing hurts. 

“You want me to hold out for an apology?” 

“I want you to quit blaming yourself and admit that you both messed up,” Bobby snaps, “Course I wanna wave a magic wand and make it all go away, but this aint Disney World. You say you’re working through and I’m hearing you, Dean, but Cas ain’t a damn therapist. He’s your friend. He’s offering himself up like he got all the answers cause he wants to help you. Hell, Dean, we all wanna to help you, but it ain’t that simple.” 

“So I’ve been putting too much of my crap on Cas?” 

“Don’t go putting words in my mouth,” Bobby snaps, “I’m saying you’re both idjits. People screw up, Dean.” 

“I get that,” Dean says, feeling his shoulders tensing up. He’s already halfway to forgiving Cas for the whole thing already (although he doesn’t want to dissect anything too much, because it’s all a mass of emotions and crap he still needs to work through)… it’s not like he has a problem with people screwing up, it’s just that he, Dean, doesn’t have time to screw up again. Plus, he’s had his fair share of fuck ups; he doesn’t really need to add to his list. 

“I’d wager he’s feeling bout as fresh as you are,” 

“No more bets, Bobby,” Dean says, stretching out his shoulders, “it turns bad.” 

Bobby snorts and takes up his sandwich. 

* 

He’s head doesn’t feel as clogged up by the time he’s largely fixed up the Chevy (at least to the point where she runs, though it’ll take a couple more days of work before she runs smooth), and he’s at that point where he wants to stop thinking about the whole thing so much and just hash it out with Cas. 

He leaves Bobby without much fanfare, slipping away with a cursory yelled goodbye from the porch (because he’s had enough emotional talks with Bobby for today, thanks) and climbs into the Impala. 

The drive to Cas’ place is enough to get him overthinking and irritated, which isn’t really where he wanted to get. Mostly, he just wants to collapse on Cas’ sofa and tell him that he’s sorry but that’s the truth, and he kind of hopes Cas can deal with that…except, the more he goes over it in his head the more likely it is that he’ll get mad instead. 

He gets that Cas doesn’t want him to throw his life away, but Dean’s been as honest as he can be from the off. The guy can’t spend months trying to regrow Dean’s self-worth than just punch him in the face, because Dean seriously can’t deal with that level of mixed signals. His irritation at Cas is the prickle of pain whenever he moves his face and the threat of his lip beginning to bleed again. 

He’d actually forgotten about the whole kiss thing until a second after he’s wrapped his knuckles against Cas’ front door. 

Cas had kissed him. Yeah, for a poker game… but, the memory of dry lips and the warmth of Cas’ closeness, just out of reaching distance, was making his head spin slightly. 

He’s really sure about the protocol of talking to someone who, last night, had kissed you and then punched you in the face. 

Not that he hadn’t deserved it. 

Maybe. 

It’s hard to detangle all of this stuff. Cas has been telling him for months that he has to take care of himself. He’s been rubbing away at Dean’s thinly veiled cover of bad jokes and revealing the zero levels of self-worth that Dean knows has been there for an age… but if Dean can’t even manage one frigging friendship outside of his family without getting punched in the face, what does that say? And Cas had been doggedly trying to help him for months and now he’s here with a split lip in a black eye. It makes Dean’s head throb with a residual hangover and a whole series of what the fucks he’s not going to ask Cas about. 

Bobby is probably right when he says Cas isn’t faultless, but then Dean believes a lot of things that aren’t true right to his bones. It’s not that simple. It never is, really. 

“Cas,” Dean calls, wrapping his knuckles against the wood of Cas’ front door for a second time. “Cas, come on…” 

Inside Cas’ apartment, he can hear the distinct noise of someone accidentally walking into something. He half forgets that he might be angry a Cas (or maybe he’s just feeling defeated, he’s not entirely sure), because he can imagine Cas’ pinched expression of irritation directed at the sofa, or whatever. Seconds later, the door is flung open and he’s face to face with a pair of shocking blue eyes, which had been fixed, unwavering, on Dean’s when they’d been leaning in to kiss him last night. 

Crap. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, remaining in the doorway. His expression shifts slightly as he takes in the mess of bruising around Dean’s eye, but it’s an unreadable motion. Dean’s not entirely sure whether Cas is still pissed at him, or has simply given up on him completely. He doesn’t even know whether the guy is frigging _sorry,_ he just knows that Cas doesn’t lose his temper or get emotional until he _really_ loses it. 

The aftermath had been Cas at his blankest, half purged with emotion but half looking like the emotion might be closer to the surface than normal. Whilst Cas had been pressing the cloth to his bleeding split lip, not arguing with him about his decision, Dean had felt a pang of mourning that felt entirely like Cas giving up on him. 

Which was probably why he’d then continued being a dick, which had probably been why Cas had left… leading to Dean passed out on the sofa. 

Dean sort of just stands in the doorway staring. It seems like there’s a lot of ways he could start this conversation and he doesn’t like any of them. He’s about to grate out something about he’s not even sure if he meant the whole enlisting thing anymore, except that telling himself that has been his lullaby for fucking _years_ and it’s more difficult to give that up than you’d think… or that he doesn’t really care that Cas punched him in the face (much) and that Dean gets he’s difficult to deal with, sometimes. His lips catch on the words before he’s formed them and something beyond the scope of Cas’ shoulders catches his eye. 

“What’s with all the boxes?” 

Cas winces slightly. 

Fuck. 

Dean pushes past him, stepping into his living room. He can feel his heart speed up and sink simultaneously, and for a second he forgets how to breathe. It’s only momentarily, before he reminds himself that this is Castiel Novak and not Sam. It helps, but not as much as he thinks it should. 

“You’re moving out,” Dean says, flatly. He’d been in Cas’ apartment a couple of days ago, and everything had been neatly shelved and meticulously organised, but now there are stacks of books on the coffee table, other’s in boxes. Cas’ closet is thrown open, his trench coat on top of a pile of clothes. “The hell, Cas?” 

He’s diverting away from the _is this my fault_ question the second it registers in his brain, because that’s dangerous and he doesn’t want to know (because surely he shouldn’t register that clearly on Cas’ radar?), and instead focuses on the fact that it hurts. There’s an aftertaste of panic in the bile at the back of his throat. 

_I’m trying to help you, Dean._ Cas had said last night, before he’d thrown down the cloth and left Dean to bleed and get drunk. _This is how you repay me?_

It’s not like that was _fair._ Dean wasn’t doing this for Cas… he wasn’t doing anything for Cas (which made him a bag of dicks, sure, but then Cas was always good at delivering blows that hurt. Figuratively and literally, as Dean could now vouch for). 

“My personal effects are going into temporary storage this afternoon,” Cas offers as a reply. 

And yeah, the conformation is another blow. 

Dean’s racing mind latches onto the word _temporary_ and he feels slightly calmer. Then he reasons that Cas could just be putting stuff in temporary storage until he gets a big enough car, or someway to transport his crap halfway across the country. It doesn’t mean Cas is staying. It’s very much looking like Cas is going to be another one of those people who just _leaves._

Everyone’s always been so god damn desperate to get away from him. 

“How temporary?” 

“The summer,” 

He can work with that. 

“Cas,” Dean sighs, “You can put your crap at mine. Storage is expensive, dude. You don’t have that kind of cash.” 

“Are you…?” 

“Yes I’m sure,” Dean interrupts. He’s not going to admit that it’s mostly his insurance policy. If Dean has his books and DVDS and frying pans, then Cas has got to come back and collect them. Maybe Dean Winchester isn’t enough to drag anyone back, but the content of a couple of boxes probably is. Says a lot about his worth, but that’s the way people are. “Have you told Ellen?” 

That’s not the question he really cares about. 

“I intended to call her this evening,” 

“Right,” Dean says, and then a breath, “and were you gonna tell me?” 

“…Dean,” Cas sighs. 

“No, damn it,” Dean says, stomach twisting, “Cas, you know I –“ 

– have a bucket load of abandonment issues and I need you, I need you Cas you can’t just get up and leave because – 

“I’m going to find my father,” Cas says, and he looks so frigging hopeful, and determined and Dean doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do with it. He’d driven to Cas’ to have a completely different conversation, and now it’s just… he’s completely blind sighted by this frigging plot twist, and he’s definitely too hungover to deal with it. 

Cas’ father sounds like a dick through and through, and this is a frigging soul searching mission. He’s spent years trying to find his father, even when the guy was right there, pushing through the alcohol and the angst and trying to get to the person beneath. It’s disappointment. It’s another dead beat Dad and he wants to tie Cas down and make him listen until he realises that his whole mission is pointless. Or he wants to go with him for the emotional support, because he knows searches for father’s hurt like a bitch. And he can’t. 

It’s also a stark reminder that Cas has a shit ton of abandonment issues too. It briefly crosses his mind that maybe it isn’t _completely_ his fault that Cas lost his usual composure and punched him in the face, because it’s also Gabriel’s and Anna’s and Cas’ shitty father. Sometimes he forgets that Cas has issues. 

“How? Guy’s been AWOL for years, Cas.” 

“Balthazar,” Cas says, “he knows many of my father’s old friends. I’ve been in touch with him over the past couple of days. He invited me to stay with him next week.” 

“Ex Balthazar?” Dean questions, stepping into Cas’ kitchen and beginning making coffee to give him something to do with his hands that isn’t strangle something. “Broke your heart, douche bag ex Balthazar?” 

“I’m not a child, Dean,” Cas says, some of the heat from yesterday’s argument slipping into his voice. So, Cas is still dealing with the emotional disappointment that is Dean Winchester by diverting to anger. Figures. “I am fully capable of managing my feelings.” 

“Just surprised,” Dean says, “didn’t really realise you had anything to do with the guy since you moved down here. Text a guy after twelve months and he invites you for a sleepover?” 

“ _Not_ that it’s important,” Cas says, voice dangerous, “but I last saw him a few months ago.” 

“Fine, you’re practically best friends. Whatever.” 

“Dean, I need the contacts of my father’s friend –” 

“– no you don’t, Cas. What the hell has your Dad done to deserve a search party, huh? You think this is gonna do anything but push the knife in deeper? You don’t need him, Cas, you don’t need to run out on your friends for some mission for the holy grail of Dad’s, when you know full well he’s an asshole who screwed you all over. Jesus, Cas.” 

“I’m leaving in three days,” Cas says, voice terse. 

“Fine,” Dean snaps, “I’ll help you pack your shit up.” 

“I don’t need your help.” 

“What’s the financial damage of this gung ho road trip?” 

“Balthazar is paying for my flights to Baltimore.” 

“What, so he’s in love with you or something now?” 

“No,” Castiel returns, voice sharp, “he’s just rich. As for everything else…” 

“This is what you’ve been saving for?” Dean asks, comprehension dawning on him. It hurts. “This is the purpose of the big budget?” He’s been planning this since Dean knew him. Worse, Dean has been helping facilitate the whole doomed mission. The month by month by month lease suddenly makes sense. “You’ve been planning to get the hell out of doge this whole time,” Dean says, weighing it over as he speaks, “and you didn’t think to mention it until three days before you skip town?” 

“I wasn’t sure whether Balthazar would wish to speak to me.” 

“Well, congratulations Cas, you just managed to whore yourself one step closer to Daddy.” 

“I _apologise_ that I didn’t inform you of my every decision, Dean,” Cas spits, suddenly close enough that Dean can feel his breath on his face. Dean isn’t entirely sure whether he’s thinking more about the kiss or the punch in the face, but his mind is oscillating between the two of them in quick succession and neither image is helping to keep his mind on the current situation. Cas leaving, flitting in and out of his life like everyone else, when he’d honestly thought he’d got to someone stagnant; a relationship he could depend upon without it all going to shit. 

Cas is livid. 

“Don’t go,” Dean says without really meaning to, with Cas practically chest to chest with him, “I need you, Cas.” 

The admission is too much when they’re both standing so close. He can feel his heart speeding up slightly in his chest, and he’s not sure where this whole thing is going, but he’s entirely sure that they’re having a moment. His brain is too clogged up to start dissecting what having a moment with his (male) best friend means right now, particularly when Cas’ eyes are widening as his anger dissipates, looking at him. Right now, he can’t seem to do anything but stare, pulse matching the mantra in his head. _Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go –_

They spend a few seconds too long breathing in each other’s space, starting at each other. 

“I have to.” 

“Right,” Dean says, breaking the spell and putting as much distance between himself and the blatant rejection as possible. He doesn’t know why he was expecting anything else, considering the number of ways he’s screwed up in the past twenty four hours alone. He’s a mess. It’s no wonder that Cas is trying to get away, really, after the past month solid of his presence. Of course Cas rates finding his shitty father over him, of course, of course, of course. 

“Dean,” Cas says, voice deep with meaning. He’s going to try and chase away the thoughts that are gathering at the corner of his head, about being unwanted and about people leaving. He doesn’t want to hear it right now. Not from Cas. 

“Should be able to get all this in the back of the Impala,” Dean says, lifting one of the full boxes of books from the sofa, “I’ll call Sam and tell him to clear some space.” 

“Dean…” 

“It’s fine,” He cuts across him, “It’s all good, Cas, come on. Let’s get this show on the road.” 

* 

Dean drops the box of books onto the sofa loud enough to get Sam’s attention. He hadn’t called Sam to tell him he’d be coming over with boxes of stuff, nor had he mentioned the fact that Cas had made a good attempt at breaking his face; Sam is always the last person he wants to talk to when he’s really fucked up, because the disappointment was always the sharpest and the hardest to swallow. 

“What…?” Sam asks, hovering in the doorway to his bedroom. He’s clearly taken a back, but not as shocked as he should be given Dean’s face is more bruise than skin right now. He’s done this before, though. It’s not a frigging surprise for Dean to be busted up and broken. 

“Cas is leaving,” 

“What?” Sam repeats, his voice much sharper this time. Dean’s heading back towards the door with Sam at his heals. Sam seems to have grown another inch since yesterday, but it doesn’t spark that same feeling of affection that it did last time it happened. 

“To look for his father,” Dean says, tone blank, “There’s a couple more boxes, I’m picking the rest up tomorrow.” 

“What happened to your face?” Sam asks. 

“Cas,” 

“ _What?”_

“Apparently, I pissed him off.” 

“Dean, what…?” 

They’re out of the apartment building, half way to the Impala. 

“Can we not talk about this right now,” Dean grates out, “Cas is fucking off in three days to go suck up to Balthazar and disappear on some god damn mission to find his father and at least if I have his collection of frigging French literature then he’s gotta come back. Everyone leaves, Sam, everyone’s in such a hurry to leave and I…” 

“Okay,” Sam says, cutting off, “it’s okay Dean, I get it. I’ll get you a beer.” 

Sam grabs a duffle bag which he’s pretty sure has a load of Cas’ clothes in, probably a spare frigging trench coat, and heads back for the stairs. Dean reaches into his pocket before remembering that he’d thrown away his lighter in a moment of unwise optimism. 

There’s a spare one in the glove box though. Cigarettes, too. He lights one and takes a drag, leaning on the hood of the Impala. 

He might give up again tomorrow, or he might not because, Jesus, Cas is leaving him and once again he’s stuck here, with his three jobs and his stockpile of issues that hasn’t dealt with yet. Everyone’s pushing up into all this self-improvement-shit, and he doesn’t know whether he’s got it in him… they’re all interfering and pushing him one way or another, and half of him wants to rebel and fuck shit up because he understands that… and then there’s Sam, who’s counting on him, and it’s all just a massive cluster fuck and he doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to be doing. 

Dean takes a slow drag of his cigarette, relishing in the fact that they might kill him someday. 

That thought isn’t as comforting as it used to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had a rough week wherein my house was broken into and a bunch of stuff stolen, including all forms of ID i have which means I couldn't even frink away my problems. Blah. So, I'm ignoring my essays and doing this instead because HEY WE HAVE PLOT. Probably won't help with being a bit angry at Cas, but he has his issues too. Poor kid.


	18. Chapter 18

Dean wakes up at half ten. 

His head feels clearer without the hangover, but the imprint of Cas’ fist is still throbbing when he opens his eyes. Dean’s indulging himself in imagining Cas punching someone else, and there’s a slight thrill involved in thinking about Cas kicking ass which he’s really not going to delve into right now, because Dean’s mornings don’t usually involve indulgence, time, or sleepily dissecting potentially worrying thoughts about how Cas would like kind of hot, maybe, in a Hans Solo-esque way. And then the whole _time_ thing registers and, judging how he actually feels like he’s slept for more than two hours, he’s almost definitely running late. 

“Shit shit shit,” Dean mutters, reaching for his phone and checking the time. The realisation that he was supposed to be at Pam’s over three hours ago brings another string of swearwords and then… crap, he was supposed to be working at the Roadhouse last night and between all the drama with Cas he’d completely forgotten… and now he’s missed two god damn shifts and has pretty much already screwed himself over financially for the week. He got zero hours in yesterday (unless you count the bit of work he did for Bobby, but that wasn’t really a proper shift and he’s flat out refusing to let Bobby pay him for it) and Ellen’s probably pissed enough to take him off the rota tomorrow evening. 

He rolls out of bed, stomach churning, and stumbles out into the main room of their apartment. This is a completely different way of falling apart than he usually defaults over to. He’s used to blankly pulling himself through shifts at work, functioning but emotionally dead. This time he can feel the cracks in his façade widening and turning into great big gaping holes. Apparently, it’s his ability to work three jobs that’s falling into the chasm first. Great. 

He calls Pam first. 

“Pamela, I am so sorry,” Dean says, before Pam can get past hello, “I can be there in five,” 

“Chill, Dean,” Pam says, “Sam’s here,” 

“ _What?”_

It’s a mark of how out of it he is this morning that he hadn’t even registered Sam’s absence. He kind of hates himself for not noticing that first, but he’s only just beginning to process that Sam is on his summer vacation… which means he’s gonna need some cash to entertain himself and go places with friends, which is okay because Dean doesn’t have to squeeze college in, either, but it’s off to bad start. 

What kind of frigging guardian is he? He messes up one friendship and then, what, he forgets about all his god damn responsibilities? So Cas punched him in the face and is leaving town? It doesn’t give Dean a right to forget about the money. 

“He’s covering for your lazy ass,” Pam says, “And he’s doing a good job, too, Dean.” 

His god damn little brother is at work, right now, when it should be Dean. Dean should be sending people fake smiles and flirting for tips like he has be for years, whilst Sam is out with his friends (now he actually has those) or watching TV. That’s how it’s supposed to be. He doesn’t need the rules of nature being screwed up on top of everything else. 

“Sam’s not supposed to work,” Dean says, making a reach for a mug because coffee, he needs coffee. There are boxes of Cas’ stuff all over Dean’s apartment and that doesn’t help, really, because he’s not even sure whether or not he’s pissed at the guy. “I’ll come take over,” 

“Nah,” Pam says, “leave it.” 

Dean’s fumbling around the kitchen has led to him coming across Sam’s note, his brother’s usual neat handwriting explaining that he thought Dean looked exhausted and needed to sleep, so decided to go into the diner in his place; it’s a pretty dirty trick, actually. It’s not like Dean can have the Sam-isn’t-allowed-to-work argument when he’s already frigging there. 

He can’t believe he dropped the ball. 

“Fine,” Dean concedes, because he can’t exactly drive to Pam’s and drag him away… and he needs to call Ellen and grovel, too. Also, he feels completely off his game. He doesn’t know how to deal with today. “But just this once, Pam, he comes in again you make him drive straight back home.” 

“Sure,” Pam laughs, and he doesn’t believe a word of it. Sonuvabitch. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Dean.” 

Frigging teenagers making stupid god damn decisions and running off without his position. He’s debating the idea of trying to ground Sam later, but he’s like ninety percent sure Sam would just laugh in his face. Dean isn’t exactly much of a role model and to be fair, if he had a brother as a guardian he probably wouldn’t listen. He’s lucky the Sam is as well behaved as he is… but it’s a big frigging problem that he’s got no authority, here. Also his chest feels strangely light and nervous and he feels completely ungrounded. Today just isn’t Dean Winchester’s MO and the wrongness of it is making him jumpy. 

Ellen answers the phone on the second ring. 

“You got a decent reason for dragging me away from the bar, Dean?” 

“I missed my shift,” Dean mumbles, feeling a little bit like he does when he has to report bad behaviour to Bobby; like a kid, ashamed and bumbling. It’s so god damn strange that he’s the supposed parental figure to Sam, but still feels like a teenager himself whenever he lets Bobby or Ellen down. 

“Bobby called,” Ellen says, “Said you probably needed a night off. You work too damn hard, Dean. Dunno where you get the energy.” 

Sam related guilt, mostly. 

“Cas is leaving,” Dean says, because he’s just remembered all over again. God damn. He doesn’t want him to leave. Somewhere in the past few weeks he’s found his footing again, but that’s all down to Cas. He’s gonna leave and Dean’s gonna slip right back down to where he was right after the bank robbery… and he’s tried of feeling like that, of detesting himself, and he doesn’t want it back. Now he’s had these few weeks of actually enjoying his life, he doesn’t know how he’ll cope when it all goes to shit again. 

Obviously things with Cas have gone to the crapper right now, but he has every faith that they’ll sort it out at some point. Probably. 

“I know, kid,” Ellen says, voice soft. “He’s coming back.” 

“Yeah,” his voice sounds gruffer than he intended. Everything’s too serious and Ellen’s waiting for him to fill in the spaces of the conversation with his feelings, or something. Time for a conversation shift. “Slept in and Sam snuck off to cover my shift. Frigging teenagers, Ellen.” 

“Preaching to the choir,” Ellen snorts, “At least its diner shifts rather than drugs.” 

“He might have drugged me,” Dean says. He feels like he could have been drugged. “Haven’t slept in since I was sixteen,” 

“There’s your problem, Dean,” Ellen says. 

“He ain’t gonna listen to me on this, is he?” 

“He’s stubborn,” 

“He used to frigging listen to me,” Dean complains, his free hand reaching out to rub the back of his neck. Sam was never completely obedient, course, but he always listened to Dean more than John Winchester. He wasn’t obstinate on purpose… he was just so damn inquisitive, wanting answers all the frigging time, because he needed to know. Sure, all Sam’s questioning used to really piss Dean off, but he learnt pretty quick that the answer was just to try and explain. John never got that. “Now, he just pretends to listen and does whatever the hell he wants. It’s god damn frustrating, Ellen.” 

“Hey, Jo don’t listen to a damn word I say,” Ellen returns, “It ain’t just you,” 

“What do I do?” 

“Pick your battles,” Ellen says, “Least you’ll be prepared when you do the parenting for real.” 

The insinuation makes Dean feel uncomfortable for about fifty different reasons. He’s thinking about the admission to Cas that caused him to get punched in the face…Ellen Harvelle thinks that one day Dean might have kids. Ellen thinks he has a future that stretches beyond him setting Sam up and dissolving into the ether. Ellen sees Dean having a life. 

He walks over towards the sofa and sits down on the corner that isn’t taken up with Cas’ books. 

“Never thought about it,” Dean says, struggling to keep his voice light. 

“You talk like every other parent I know,” 

“Ellen,” Dean sighs, “I got a black eye and twenty bucks to my name,” 

“I paid you for last night shift.” 

“Shouldn’t’ve done that, Ellen.” 

“You never take your holiday pay,” 

“Don’t go on holiday,” 

“Exactly,” Ellen says, “don’t argue with me, kid. If I wanna give you my money I’ll give you by god damn money.” 

“Can I work tonight?” 

“The hell you wanna do that for?” 

The honest answer is that he’s doesn’t know what we’ll happen if he’s left alone with his thoughts. He’s kind of scared about where his head space ends up sometimes and right now he’s not sure he trusts himself. If he keeps busy and numbs feeling with work and fake smiles, he’s sure the dull ache of this screwed up situation with Cas will lessen slightly. He needs to _do_ something or he’ll explode, particularly with this weird, untethered feeling sitting on his chest. 

“Need to talk to Ash,” Dean says, “cashing in a favour.” 

“All right,” Ellen says, voice dipping down to affectionate, “you enjoy your half day off, Dean. If I hear you’ve gone to Bobby’s or crashed Sam’s shift they’ll be hell to pay, Dean Winchester, you hear me?” 

Dean agrees because it’s easier than arguing. Ellen is a formidable force at the best of times, but especially when it comes to Jo, him and Sam. She mothers people by yelling them into looking after themselves, and she’s scary enough that it usually kinda works. 

He has over three hours until Sam gets back from his shift (he’s trying to tell himself that this isn’t a failure, but he’s not that easily convinced) and eight until he’s needed at the Roadhouse. He has no exams to study for and no college work to do for weeks. He doesn’t have a damn clue what to do with the stretch of time between then and now. 

Sorting out the boxes of Cas’ stuff won’t take long, as there’s not really that much room in their apartment in the first place. He has no choice but to move the majority of it into his bedroom. Sam’s got a lot of stuff, but Dean’s settling has been pretty minimal. 

His whole relationship with Cas is pretty tense right now; bound to be after the bust up that they still haven’t talked about. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that Cas is literally the only damn person in Dean’s life. And that he’s leaving. 

_If you want to drop the rest of your crap over,_ Dean types out, _I’m not at work till eight tonight_. 

The message sounds like he’s inviting Cas to come over, which he supposes he sort of is, but he doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to do. He needs to do _something_ and Jo’s working, Charlie’s working and he can’t really face Bobby at the moment. Not when he knows that Bobby must have talked to Ellen for him, silently reading what Dean needed and doing the things Dean would never ask someone to do for him. 

At least Cas, for all that he’s done for Dean, isn’t such a frigging saint. Besides, he figures they kind of need to talk before Cas flies off into the ether, or it’s gonna fester and decay and, by the end of the summer, Cas won’t be able to face coming back and Dean’s gonna wind up with a bunch of nerdy books he’s disproportionately attached to. 

_What about your shift at Pam’s?_

Trust Cas to know his whole damn schedule. 

_Dude, dont. Slept in so Sam went in and covered. Defo lost argument about work._

Cas rings the bell for his apartment twenty minutes later. He looks pretty frigging tragic holding a box of his belongings and wearing a trench coat that had been blatantly packed before he’d changed his mind, if the crumpled, creased look is anything to go by. 

Dean lets him in wordlessly, because he’s not sure what the hell he’s supposed to say. He’s beginning to think that Bobby was the preferable option after all. 

“What are you going to do about Sam?” Cas asks. 

“Not much I can do,” Dean says, gesturing to a free patch of floor for him to dump his box of belongings. “I know Sam. He’ll get round any sanctions. Not stirring up trouble right when things are settled again.” 

He sounds weary. 

“I’m surprised,” Cas says, watching him carefully. “Sam called me this morning,” Cas continues, expression all lines of displeasure, “he seemed… angry.” 

Yeah, Dean bets the guy was angry. Sam may be the younger brother, but they’re still protective as hell over each other. Sam’s probably pissed that he trust Cas to look after Dean (which, yeah, he doesn’t need looking after, but that’s how Sam would have seen the past couple of months), only to have his big-brother-babysitter send his fists flying. In fact, he’s sure that Sam laid into Cas plenty, angry sixteen year old kid that he is. He was probably terrifying. 

“Well, you did punch me in the face,” Dean snaps. Cas looks up at him, seemingly caught by surprise by the abrupt mention of this in conversation. Then, he’s suddenly much too close, which isn’t particularly abnormal, with his gaze shifting up to the mess of Dean’s eye. It looks worse than it is, with the bruise beginning to yellow slightly, and it was pretty bad in the first place. Cas reaches out one hand and brushes two fingers over the discoloured area, as if his touch could erase the original damage. The pads of Cas’ fingers not quite pressing against his skin is bringing back the whole messy affair of the few days – the fact that Cas is leaving, the fight, the god damn kiss. The conversation is getting dangerously close into ‘having a moment’ territory all over again, which is definitely _not_ okay given the circumstances. 

“What did you expect? A pat on the back and a talk about your feelings? Sam may be a frigging girl at times, but he’s still my brother. I don’t know who taught you about this human thing, but you can’t just punch your friends in the face, Cas. Not okay.” 

“Dean,” Cas says, voice tight, “I don’t understand the correct way to deal with this.” 

Cas is rarely as open about his lack of understanding of social cues, which Dean is chalking up to the guy being at a complete loss this time. Bobby was probably right about Cas spending the whole night thinking about it, actually, because of course Cas is a barely-socialised recluse who doesn’t know where to put his feelings. Of course he is. 

“Usually you start with a frigging apology.” 

“I’m sorry,” Cas says, only the guy sounds distraught and frustrated at everything, so it doesn’t come out as particularly convincing. 

“Okay,” Dean retorts, even though it isn’t. They spend the next few minutes staring at each other in silence. Cas’ gaze doesn’t move from his own, not even to map out the damage on Dean’s face, so Dean just stares right back. 

“Did that… work?” Cas asks, after the silence has gotten so loud that it actually became difficult to break it. 

“Do you feel better?” 

Cas looks at the bruises again, lips curling downwards. 

“No,” 

“Then no, Cas, it didn’t,” Dean says, forcing himself into movement. He’s already moved most of Cas’ stuff into his room, so it makes sense to pick up the extra box that Cas bought round and shove it just beyond door. 

“You slept through your shift,” Cas says, apparently aiming for a conversation change and missing by an impressive margin. Dean missing a shift for the first time since his father died is entirely tied up in Cas punching him in the face and deciding to leave, and they both know it. Dean doesn’t miss shifts and now he’s here falling apart. 

“And now Sam’s working for fucking Pamela,” Dean says. It wasn’t meant to sound like an accusation, but it does. 

“I… I want to fix this.” 

“Not how it works,” Dean grates out, “Look, Cas, we’ve been living in each other’s pockets for weeks. I’ve had frigging relationships where I spent more time alone. This isn’t gonna go away with some shit attempt at an apology and a conversation about my damn feelings. Maybe it’s a good thing you’re leaving.” 

He doesn’t mean that. 

“Sam believes I should have told you previously.” 

Oh yeah, Sam definitely laid into him this morning. He’d be proud of the kid if he wasn’t an interfering little bitch who should have woken him up instead of driving to Pam’s and covering his shift (although, yeah, he is proud really). 

“Damn right you should. You know Sam used to run away and with Dad and everything… Cas, you gotta have known I was gonna have a problem with this. I trusted you.” 

The use of the past tense makes Cas wince slightly. He should’ve known that Cas would be entirely too perceptive about grammar. 

“I didn’t know how,” Cas says. He sounds pained enough that Dean wants to take pity on the guy, but it would just be a false truce; they can’t move past this just because they both feel bad for each other and angry at themselves. Not when he’s managed to dredge up some righteous anger at the guy from somewhere or other, and he’s sure that Cas is still hurting too. 

“You leave in three days,” Dean says, “We’ll see how it goes when you get back.” 

Cas’ shoulders crumple. 

“Sorry dude,” Dean says, “But friends don’t punch each other in the face.” 

Actually, Dean’s had a lot of friendships that would suggest the contrary, but that’s because Dean’s an idiot with limited self-worth and zero levels of self-preservation. He hadn’t really been planning on holding Cas accountable for the whole thing until they’d gotten to this point in the conversation, because he kind of values Cas more than he values his face. It’s just that he’s pretty sure that Cas won’t forgive himself unless Dean gives him a hard time, anyway (because, yeah, he can read the fact that Cas feels frigging _awful_ in every jilted moment), and that he _knows_ that Cas can do better. 

It reminds him a little bit of playing parent to Sam, actually, feeling out the best way to teach him that he can’t do a certain thing, even if Dean _himself_ doesn’t mind it. He’s actively sort out being punched in the face on a number of occasions, but not by his best friends in the midst of a damn near perfect evening with his family. It’s different. 

“If we’re not friends,” Cas says, “what are we?” 

“ Frigging complicated?” Dean suggests, “Family, maybe. They always fuck each other over and eventually get to a point where they can forget about it.” 

The admission smacks a little bit too much of how much Cas actually means to him, because they’re all aware of how seriously Dean takes family. Still, Cas is bad at reading situations and Dean does want him to know that his anger at him _is_ temporary. He’s dead set on making sure that Cas comes back (not that there’s much he can do, really) and, if Cas thinks he’s honestly screwed this up too much, there’s this possibility that he might just cut and run. 

Cas’ expression half softens and then half twists in pain again, as though Dean’s suggestion had temporarily softened the blow before Cas had once again remembered that it was his own fault there was a blow dealt in the first place. Largely, anyway, Dean’s not sure he can entirely absolve himself from guilt but… like Bobby said, it’s complicated. 

“I’m sorry my actions led to Sam working. I know you were trying to avoid that.” 

“Not on you, Cas,” Dean says, feeling weary. He reaches out and runs his tongue over his split lip, tasting the blood there. “He’d have found a way. There’s lines, course. No way in hell I’m letting him work when school starts back up. Fourteen hours a week, max. He ain’t paying for any bills. Not food, either. I’ll be damned if that money goes anywhere other than dates and geeky shit.” 

“Will he agree to that?” Cas looks so frigging grateful that the conversation has managed to stick... and, yeah, Dean’s pretty sure it’s okay for them to sham their way through two more days of forced friendship before they give each other space, because he’s also kind of terrified of being left out on a limb. Man, he doesn’t know. This whole thing is a damn mess he doesn’t want to think about. 

“He’ll be expecting a fight about it,” Dean says, running a hand over his face, “Reckon blind sighting him by agreeing’ll be enough that he goes for it. I’ll call Pam as soon as his shift is over and sort it out with her. She likes him.” 

It’s not a failure… well, it is in part, but… fuck, Sam is stubborn and shitty. 

“Everybody likes Sam,” Cas agrees. 

“It’s the puppy dog eyes,” Dean snorts, “Can get away with bloody murder.” 

“I wouldn’t have though Sam would be capable of murdering someone,” Cas says, like he’s actually giving the matter a lot of thought. Dean rolls his eyes at the ceiling. The conversations taken a turn back towards the light, which is kind of okay, but kind of needs to aired out first. 

“We’re not gonna talk about you leaving,” Dean swallows, “You want help packing, you call me. You want a travel budget, you call me. Otherwise, it ain’t happening. For the next couple of days, none of this is happening. Capisce?” 

“I capisce,” 

“Nerd,” Dean shoots back, grabbing the pair of them a beer because, yeah, apparently they’re employing the fake-it-till-you-make-it-rule for the next couple of day. Dean’s ninety percent sure that they can handle it, but the rest of him thinks that Cas is going to be sending him this sorrowful wounded puppy looks that makes Dean half angry and half want to forgive him. Maybe he’s more like eighty percent sure. 

They need space big time, but he also wants to grab hold of the guy and not allow him to leave. Complicated. 

“I’m selling my car,” 

“Good luck,” Dean snorts, “I wouldn’t take that piece of crap off you for scrap.” 

“Not everyone is car-prejudice, Dean,” Cas says, lips tilting into a frown, “There is nothing wrong with my car.” 

“Everything is wrong with your car. The colour, the hubcaps, the –” 

“– the Impala has a truly appalling rate of fuel consumption.” 

“Watch your mouth,” Dean says, “no one sits on my couch and trash talks my baby.” 

“I find your double standards frustrating,” Cas deadpans. 

He feels better now the conversation has lost the intensity and picked up momentum again. There’s something about this easy to and fro, even if it’s laced with the underlying knowledge that this is all going to crumble in a couple of days’ time. And that they’re both half unhappy. He’s angry and Cas is smarting and confused. Neither of them really believe the banter, but it’s enough to make Dean feel slightly more together. 

Cas is leaving, but he’s not going to fall apart this time. He’s going to stay on the same road of slowly untwisting all the knots and barbed edges in his thoughts, eating away at the darkness that lives there. The uphill struggle’s been pretty tough these past few months, he’s not slipping back down there again. 

“There’s… uh, a western marathon on if you wanna stay.” 

Sam finds them there several hours later, with his pro-work argument already half falling off his tongue. Dean exchanges an amused look at Cas because Sam is acting exactly as Dean predicted. It feels surprisingly good to give in and let Sam have what he wants, better to watch the surprise give way to a grin as Dean tells him he’s already sorted it with Pam (who told him straight off that she was gonna offer him a job with or without Dean’s permission, which sounded about right). Sam agrees to all of his work-rules without objection (though he’s pretty sure Sam is gonna try and slip him money at some point, which he’ll have to watch out for) and perches on the arm of the sofa to join them in watching the movie. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t mention Cas leaving, the phone call they had this morning or Dean’s bruising. He does however give Dean a few curiously worried looks, which makes Dean think he was probably right when he thought he and Cas were sitting slightly closer together than normal… as though the tentativeness of their whole (not at the moment but yes again at some point) friendship had made them both slightly nervous, pushing boundaries of personal space (those that managed to hold up with Cas around, anyway) and the usual perimeters of their friendship a little further. He’s trying to soak up as much Cas as he can, even though every sentence exchange leaves a bitter aftertaste. 

He’s mad at him for a hundred different reasons and he wants Cas to sit there and act as a soundboard as Dean yells at him, but that’s not fair and it’s not helpful. And he doesn’t want Cas to leave. 

Halfway through the second film, Sam and Cas started talking about Sam’s finals. Dean feels like he kind of missed them all together because Sam was at Ellen’s and he was caught up in his own exams, and he doesn’t like the thought of that. 

Sam did well, of course he did, but it’s a sharp reminder that Dean needs to be _better_ for Sam. 

Dean drifts away to the kitchen and starts chopping up vegetables for dinner, because he actually has time to cook properly and because Sam likes the health nut, rabbit food crap. He’s doubting himself about the whole Cas thing again and it’s making his head hurt, so he blocks them both out and pretends they’re not here. 

“Mine and Sam’s food’s gonna be ready in five, Cas,” Dean says, which he figures is a polite way of telling the guy to fuck off. Cas’ expression is pinched in confusion again, but he doesn’t seem inclined to argue as he pulls on his trench coat and mutters a goodbye to Sam. 

They have a hushed conversation which Dean reckons he’s not supposed to hear, so he hums Metallica over the top and grabs Sam a soda out the fridge. He’s too curious to let Cas slip away without glancing over, though; looks like Sam has said something unapologetic about the phone call this morning, and Cas has accepted the non-apology and is prepared to let it slide. 

“Goodbye, Dean,” Cas says, hovering near the doorway and not daring to get any closer. 

“See you, Cas,” Dean says, also staying completely still in the kitchen. He’s pretty sure that he’s going to see Cas at _some point_ before he leaves, but maybe he can’t do this bipolar friendship crap tomorrow. He’s still pissed. His face hurts. Cas is leaving. Everything about this whole situation is just wrong. 

Cas exits without another word. 

“That was… weird,” Sam says, and his hair’s gotten too long. He really needs a haircut. “You talked to him?” 

“Not as much as you, Sammy,” Dean says, fixing his eyes on him, “Defending my honour, were you?” 

“He deserved it,” Sam returns, face flushed. 

“I can handle it,” Dean returns, but he’s pretty sure Sam can tell he’s actually kind of pleased. “Eat your rabbit food, bitch.” 

Sam offers him a half bitch face half smile and gets a couple of plates out the cupboard. Dean watches as Sam takes over serving up the food and vaguely wonders about how Sam will be when he’s Dean’s age. He’ll probably still be in education, or maybe just finished, with a nice wholesome girlfriend who’ll rip into him about eating salads. He likes to think that he could fit into the picture, somewhere, even if Sam’s not going to depend on him forever. Maybe Sam will make him dinner for a frigging change, and Dean will flit into Sam’s life on occasions and bitch about his cooking. They’ll exchange small talk about whatever dead end job Dean’s working, about Ellen and Bobby, and about all Sam’s successes. Then, at the end of the night, Sam will hug him at the doorway and shut the door after him. 

Dean just hopes he has something to crawl back to when Sam goes back to his life, because he’s not entirely sure he can live for monthly catch-up. He’ll muddle through the best he can, but he’s just not sure he has it in him.


	19. Chapter 19

Sam’s second shift at Pamela’s coincides with Dean’s, which doesn’t help with the gnawing edginess sitting at the bottom of his stomach.

Sam spends the whole frigging day watching him like he’s about to blow up, or run off to beg Cas to stay or some shit like that (like he hasn’t sort of done that already), and Dean can’t help but send reciprocal worried looks…. Because, yeah, whilst he knows that Sam is definitely capable of working in a dinner he’s irrational enough that he’s worried about it anyway. He’ll mention this to Ellen later and be accused of being a helicopter parent, but actually worrying about Sam is easier than worrying about Cas in some respects. At least it is right now, because Sam’s sending puppy dog eyes to customers and getting pretty decent tips, whilst Cas is doing god knows what and planning to disappear to try and find his father. 

Tomorrow. 

“So your face looks better,” Sam says, when they finally finish (conveniently at the same time, thanks Pamela) and are heading out to the Impala. 

“Wish I could say the same,” Dean quips back, even though he’s not really feeling it. He has nearly three hours until he has to be at the Roadhouse and he’s seriously considering dropping by Cas’ to see if he needs any help packing. His face _does_ look better. Maybe the lack of swelling will be enough that the whole thing wouldn’t be as awful as it was yesterday. 

“Whatever, Dean,” Sam says, “I nearly caught you up in tips.” 

“Yeah,” Dean retorts, “because you’re frigging adorable.” 

“You okay?” 

“Fine,” Dean returns, rolling his eyes, “quit asking, Sam.” 

“Can I cook tonight?” 

“What?” Dean asks, “Is this some scheme so you wind up paying for groceries, cause I’m not standing for that crap.” 

“No,” Sam says, complete with a bitch face, which means Dean probably hit the nail on the head. “You’ve got work.” 

“Sammy, I’ve always got work,” 

“Exactly,” Sam says, face all lines of determination and slight eagerness. Ellen is right in a number of respects – it’s much better to have Sam desperate to try and help out than have him trying to rebel and take drugs. He’s lucky, really. And at this moment he can’t quite think of a reason why he shouldn’t let Sam cook him dinner. 

“Alright, Cinderella,” Dean concedes, “but you best not burn anything.” 

* 

Sam’s attempt at dinner turns out okay, in actual fact. Dean has perfected the art of delivering meals that are super cheap but substantial enough that they fill up at least some of Sam’s bottomlessness, whilst Sam’s cooking is less economical. It’s nice to sit and watch Sam fumble around the kitchen, still not quite comfortable with the growing limbs but getting there. Sam is gonna be tall and it’s terrifying in a way that Dean isn’t going to dissect too much right now, but it’s also kinda awesome. He remembers Sam being a chubby eleven year old, and the transition is kinda fascinating. 

Dean watched from the sofa and occasionally offered helpful tips like ‘you know the water isn’t supposed to boil over the pan, Sam’ and ‘I usually prefer my onions less burnt.’ 

It isn’t until they sit down to eat that Dean twigs that Sam’s got an agenda. He’s going to mark his cluelessness up as Cas related distraction, because generally he can read Sam like a book. 

“I shouldn’t have pushed you with the college thing,” Sam says, looking up at him over his plate of pasta and blinking those puppy dog eyes at him. 

“We’re doing this now?” Dean asks, swallowing. 

“I… I’ve never seen how busy your schedule was,” Sam says, “You work really really hard Dean, and I pushed you into the college thing like what you were already doing wasn’t good enough. I didn’t… I didn’t understand how much you were killing yourself over putting food on the table and paying the bills and…” 

“You weren’t supposed to,” Dean mutters. 

“I know,” Sam says, “And I get that but… I’m not a kid, Dean. You could have just told me.” Sam would have been upset, yeah, but… but if he’s honest that’s not why Dean has been downplaying everything to Sam for an age. 

First, it was because Sam would have been angry at Dad… rightfully so, yeah, but at that point Dean was doing any damn thing he could to try and keep their family together. If Sam had known he was sneaking out to work night shifts at seedy diners he wouldn’t have stood for it. He’d have called up Bobby or Ellen at a drop of the hat, and then they’d be shipped back to Kansas and John Winchester would have lost them. John Winchester wouldn’t have survived losing them, too. 

Then, he didn’t want anyone suggesting that he wasn’t good enough to look after his brother. He didn’t need Ellen or Pam offering him pity pay-rises when they had their own damn businesses to run, and he didn’t want anyone doubting that he’d got this. He didn’t deserve their help or their charity when this was his own damn fault in the first place. 

“I think I made you feel like what you were doing wasn’t good enough,” Sam is saying, eyes sad and wide, “When I never meant to, Dean, I just didn’t want you to be putting your future on hold because you have to look after me. I wish you’d said that you couldn’t do college on top of everything else. It wasn’t fair for me to guilt trip you into it.” 

“Sam,” Dean says, making a face, “This… this one isn’t on you.” 

“We’ve all been pushing you too hard,” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “because I haven’t been straight with you. You didn’t know I’d been working my ass off because I didn’t want you to, Sam –” 

“– but Ellen and Pam and Bobby,” 

“– didn’t know jack shit either,” Dean snaps, “Ellen thinks I start at Pam’s at eleven, not eight. Pam thinks I finish at the Roadhouse at midnight. Bobby only knows what I tell him, which ain’t much.” 

“How many hours a week?” Sam’s voice is a challenge. 

“I lot,” Dean bites back, petulant, “Because the funeral and the medical bills wiped me out, Sam, and you’ve got to go to college. And no, I didn’t need you whining about frigging college, but it wasn’t like it was a damn surprise when you did. But that’s what it cost to have you quit worrying and feel like our life here is stable, and that’s…” 

“Dean,” Sam says, eyes wider and shinning and Dean frigging hates this kind of conversation. 

“It’s done.” 

“Well, you could work less when college starts back up –” 

“– not an option, Sammy.” 

“Then postpone college,” 

“What?” 

“I’m not seeing a whole other lot of options, Dean, you can’t work less and you can’t keep doing this to yourself.” 

“You wanted me to do the college crap, Sam. That’s what you wanted.” 

“Because I didn’t know,” Sam says, “Now I do.” 

“Cas put in a lot of effort to get me passing, Sam,” Dean frowns, “He didn’t have to do that.” 

“It took you getting yourself hospitalised to give you time for college,” Sam retorts, frowning, “Cas wants you to look after yourself. That’s what we all want, Dean. “ 

“All right, all right. I’ll think about it, okay? I just don’t need this right now.” Dean says, running hands over his face and sucking in a deep breath. He’s wanted out of college for ages, but now Sam’s handing him that option on a plate he feels an irrational desire to cling onto it… and he can’t think of a damn reason why. 

“You’re still going,” Sam says, looking up at him over his pasta, “just not right now.” 

“Figures,” Dean mutters, turning back to his food. 

So, Sam hasn’t given up on him quite yet. 

* 

Dean spends his whole shift at the Roadhouse convinced that Sam called Ellen the moment he left their apartment and he’s damn near convinced he’ll have his whole family conspiring against him soon enough. It cranks his edginess up another notch, but Jo tolerates his moodiness because frigging everyone knows that Cas is leaving tomorrow. Still, that makes him even more frustrated, and the whole evening ends up with Ellen cuffing him round the ear and telling him to get his ass home. 

He shuffles over to the other side of the bar and Jo refuses to serve him anything more than a single beer, because she’s a damn know it all who probably has a point, but she’s still annoying. Then he drags out the beer as long as possible because he’s running out of time to talk to Cas, and he’s not letting the guy fuck off across the country without so much as a goodbye. 

He texts him from the front seat of Impala, right before he starts up her engine. 

_What time is your flight?_

He’s not expecting an answer so quickly, but Cas replies within five minutes. Still, Dean opts not to read it whilst driving, or to pull over like he normally would, and ignores the text until he pulls into the parking lot. He’s not entirely sure why his heart’s racing or why the damn flight time is making him so needlessly anxious, but he’d quite like to drown out the feeling with jack or vodka. 

_18:37_

Sixteen hours’ time. He has an early morning shift at Pam’s but Ellen oh-so-subtly didn’t put his name on the rota for tomorrow evening, which means he’s got no reason not to offer. 

_I’ll give you a lift to the airport_

Castiel replies just before four AM with one word. 

_Okay_

* 

Dean has maintained for a very long time that he’s not _scared_ of aeroplanes, he just thinks that there’s something completely illogical about large machines of metal remaining airborne for the length of a flight. Still, the thought of Cas suspended in the air in a huge chunk of metal makes him feel slightly nervous, his stomach twisting and rolling uncomfortably. 

At least, that’s what he’s decided to pin the feeling down to. 

When he pulls into the airport parking lot, his hands are beginning to feel slightly shaky. 

He and Cas have stuck to rehashing old conversations and bickering like a married couple over the car ride, rather than mentioning the fading bruises on Dean’s skin or the fact that Dean feels completely fucking betrayed by Cas walking out on him. As much as he would like to scream at Cas that this whole thing is bullshit, he knows from experience that it never works. So, they’re ignoring all the unsaid things lurking at the bottom of conversations and he’s resolutely pretending that he hadn’t asked Cas to stay. 

Now, though, it’s crunch time. The moment of abandonment has always been the worst part of all. He’d hated the knowledge that Dad and Sam were ready to jump and run, of course, and the fear of them disappearing at any moment had sucked… but it was nothing compared to that moment when he’d realise that they were gone. With Sam, it was blind panic. With Dad, it had felt like betrayal and frustration and not being good enough. 

Cas is actually a mixture of the two, although Dean supposes that at least Cas had the courtesy to announce that he was leaving. Even if it was only three days before the event. Fuck. 

Dean sucks in a deep breath and decides that he can deal with this stuff later. 

“So I, uh, got you something,” Dean says, turning to Cas and swallowing. Cas is leaving. He’s getting on a plane and leaving. On one level, he knows that it’s not permanent… but it still frigging feels like it. “For emergencies.” vHe pulls out the envelope from his glove compartment, emptying out the contents onto his palm before handing the thin piece of plastic over. 

“I know you’re too straight lace for this kind of shit, Cas, but I’ll feel better if you take it.” 

“A fake credit card?” Cas says, turning it over in his hands. Cas’ distain doesn’t help with the hollow ache in his chest, but he’d expected that much. 

“I know,” Dean grimaces, “Ash is good. It’s damn near untraceable. You don’t want to use it anywhere you’re sticking around too long, but it… just in case.” 

“Thank you,” Cas says, but his voice is stiff enough that Dean knows he doesn’t really mean it. He’s probably just pissed that Dean would even considering something like that, but he’s not having Cas cut off and stuck halfway across the country if he can help it. 

“And this,” Dean says, removing the tiny slip of paper from the envelope by hand, “Is your brother’s email address. Gabriel.” 

Cas looks at him like he’s suddenly grown another head. 

“I know you’re dead set on finding your Dad but I think you’re looking for the wrong kinda answers, Cas. Call me biased, but sure seems like your brothers did a damn sight better job. I got Ash to look for Gabriel and Anna. He didn’t find anything on Anna, but he got Gabriel. Apparently, he now owns a chain of strip joints. Just… if it goes wrong on the Dad hunt, maybe think about trying Gabriel.” Dean says, throat dry, “apparently, sometimes there are pretty decent reasons for leaving. I’m just giving you another option.” 

“Dean,” Cas says, voice deep and grateful and far too full of emotion for Dean to feel comfortable, “Thank you,” 

“That’s okay, Cas,” Dean returns, trying to keep the tone as light as possible, “Call me if you need me.” Dean presses the slip of paper with Gabriel’s email address into Cas’ hands, but then finds himself not moving away. He’s frozen sort-of holding Cas’ hands, sitting much closer than necessary when he suddenly remember the stupid poker game (and was that really only a few days ago?) and about how he’d wanted to pull Cas in, closer, draw out his won kiss and make it last. 

Fuck. 

Their whole friendship is balancing on a knife edge. Cas is leaving and it makes him feel reckless and panicked. He doesn’t know what the damn hell he’s feeling, except that he wants Cas to stay and that he can’t say that again. He can’t _lose_ Cas like he lost his Dad and how he feels like he’s losing Sam every time he messes up. He’s not really sure he’d reasoned it through properly, or really decided that he was going to do it all… but Cas is all wide blue eyes and trench coat, and his gaze is fixed directly on his as Dean’s other hand reaches forward and curls around his jaw. 

Dean pauses a moment with his thumb brushing against the rough skin of Cas’ cheek, with a numb awareness that this is the point of no return. 

And then they’re kissing. 

He’s never kissed a guy before, and he’s not even entirely sure he’s thought about it before, but it’s pretty much that same kind of deal. Except that when Cas’ hand reaches for the back of his neck and presses forward into Dean’s half of the car, he’s all firm chest and strength and, fuck, it’s hot. 

The steering wheel is kind of in the way, so Dean pushes back into Cas’ space as one of Cas’ hands scrabble for purchase under Dean’s T-shirt. He wouldn’t have pinned Cas down (pun not intended) as being so damn forward, because he has the trench coat and everything, but Dean figures he’s just as intense about everything else, so it makes sense… and then Cas’s teeth are getting more involved with Dean’s neck, and he’s remember that this is the same guy who bruised up his face a couple of days ago, and it’s all kinds of messed up that that doesn’t have him pushing the guy away, but pulling closer. 

He figures that Cas must be getting the finality vibes, too, because he’s insistently pulling Dean closer like they have a time limit (which they do it seems). 

He wouldn’t have thought that kissing Cas properly would be like this, but then he shouldn’t really have been thinking about it in the first place. Except, there’s not a single cell in Dean’s body that could deny the fact that he’s enjoying this, that he wants this, wants Cas. 

Cas’ phone alarm blares from his pocket, screeching out the default tone that Cas probably doesn’t even know how to change. 

“My flight,” Cas says, but his voice is deeper than normal and that doesn’t help anything at all, because he’s always had a bit of a thing for Cas’ voice. “I have to go.” 

Dean’s not sure he’d know what the hell to say even if he was inclined to fill up the silence, but he’s not because it’s no good. Cas is literally about twenty seconds away from walking out of Dean’s life, albeit temporarily, to go searching for something. 

He sucks in a deep breath and opens the driver’s door, pulling open the trunk and lugging out Cas’ suitcase in silence. 

“Goodbye, Dean,” Cas says. 

“See you, Cas,” 

It’s the part where they should hug, or at least would have if Dean hadn’t just lost his mind and made out with the guy in the Impala (which isn’t really something he’s done for a long time). Now, it’s too frigging awkward for a hug and pretty damn awkward without one. Dean doesn’t make a move towards him and Cas doesn’t either, so they stuck in an awkward too-much-personal-space limbo for a long thirty seconds. 

Cas breaks the moment by taking his suitcase and starting to walk towards the Departure Gate. 

He’d planned to go in with the guy and wait for him to check in his suitcase like a normal person, but instead he’d started fucking necking with his best friend; the same best friend who was flying off to have a sleepover with his ex-boyfriend and wasn’t planning on returning till the end of the summer. 

He thinks he might be having a fucking panic attack. 

After five minutes he remembers how to breathe and tries to work out what in the name of crap just happened. Not only had he managed to get Cas to lose his shit and punch him in the face, he’d also made out with the guy seconds before he was flying off to go stay with his ex-boyfriend. What kind of fucking friend was he? He needs to get the hell away from the airport. 

The road makes him feel slightly better and blocks out the white panic that’s creeping in from all corners of his brain. He can’t rationalise what just happened. It’s not because Cas is a _guy_ exactly (although, there is that), it’s just Dean has just majorly screwed up the only friendship he’s managed to maintain in the past decades for five minutes of necking. He doesn’t know what the hell he was thinking, except that he didn’t want Cas to leave. Dean is a frigging waiter, stroke bartender, stroke mechanic stroke guardian to a sixteen year old. Where the hell does he get off, kissing Cas? 

He drives in the wrong direction for twenty minutes before he realises that he’s just wasted money in gas and that Sam’s going to be worrying about where he is. He’s not sure why the realisation feels so crippling, but it feels like a wound. He’s fighting a battle with regulating his lungs and working out how he can pretend the last couple of hours just didn’t happen. 

All things considered, he’s gotta admit that this is a new method of self-sabotage. Cas was never going to come back after the stunt that he’d just pulled, and Dean would have an apartment half full of stuff for an age, before Sam finally talked him into ditching that. Sam would give him those puppy dogs eyes and a _don’t you think it’s time, Dean,_ and Dean would want to scream that he’d never have given up on Sam, if he’d left permanently. 

He reaches for his cigarettes on automatic, willing himself not to cry because _Jesus fuck_ what kind of screw up cries over something as theoretically insignificant as a kiss. Except, it’s not really that. It’s _everything_ and, apparently, years’ worth of issues have decided to show up and attend Dean’s latest pity party. 

Dean Winchester is a twenty two year old orphan, who works three jobs to try and make ends meet to look after his brother. His life is a constant string of financial worries and shift swapping and he’s been exhausted for years. There’s a bunch of one-night stands and a few sporadic relationships that he inevitably screwed up. He never had the time to make any friends except Cas, and he threw a massive grenade at that because he was scared of being left alone. 

He wants _out._ Not while Sam still needs him, course, but when he doesn’t… and he doesn’t know why he can’t be allowed to want that one thing. All he wants is some kind of end in sight. He doesn’t see any of this crap getting better, so he’s been taking comfort in the fact that at least someday it will end. 

Briefly, he considers getting blind drunk at the nearest bar and asking someone to pick him up, but he can’t deal with the self-righteous looks and the pity. He swallows back the desire to be sick and turns the Impala back round, heading back towards home. It hurts, but he’s been boxing this crap up for years. He can carry on. 

Three miles later, he remembers that Cas must have taken off in a solid metal flying machine that really shouldn’t be able to fly, all logic considered, and his chest twists sharply. He pulls over, forces down all memory of the fucking kiss, and pulls his phone out. 

If he can help it, he’s not losing Cas. 

_Text me when you land._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack, so sorry about the long wait! I was hit by exam season and a triple coursework deadline and then spent a couple of weeks vegetating but... this is an eventful chapter, I guess? One that I'm not 100% happy with but... well, lots more plot to come.


	20. Chapter 20

After his frigging embarrassing panic attack, hours of stressing out and a vivid nightmare of Cas’ plane going up in flames, Dean gets a grand total of two fucking words.

 _I’ve landed._

It figures that Cas would take his text so frigging literally, because it’s Cas, but he really doesn’t know what the damn hell he’s supposed to do with those two words. He’s ninety percent sure that this is a more difficult situation to navigate than after the punches went flying, because as much as you can just lose your temper and chalk that up to a moment of anger, it’s more difficult to reason away losing your damn mind. 

If he looks at this from Cas’ point of view, it probably seems like Dean wanted Cas to text him when he landed so they could talk about what the hell happened back there, but that implies like Dean knows and he doesn’t. Instead, he’s left marinating in the effect of Cas’ two words with not a damn clue about how he’s supposed to respond to them. 

I’ve landed. 

Well, Dean reasons into his fourth or fifth beer, at least the guy isn’t actually dead or dying in the burnt out skeleton of an aeroplane somewhere. 

“Dean,” Sam says, stumbling into the room with bleary eyes, “Have you slept?” 

It’s like six am, so it’s not really surprising that Sam looks like shit. Dean had given up sleeping after the nightmare fiasco and had relocated to the couch, where at least there was some shitty TV show playing and where the pressure to sleep or at least attempt to isn’t making his head hurt. He’d kept the TV on low, but it’s not surprising that the noise (or the light) woke Sam; despite being at that point of teenage growth spurt where he like _needs_ like eight hours of sleep a night or he just doesn’t function, the aftermath of John Winchester means that they both sleep lightly. 

Dean reaches for the remote and turns the TV down even lower, quiet enough that he can barely make out the words. He hopes that’s enough for his brother to sleep walk back into his room, but he stays at the doorway staring blearily at him. 

“A bit,” Dean says, glancing up, “Cas has landed.” 

Sam nods, so it looks like he doesn’t really know how to respond to that information either. He’s also acutely aware that his behaviour isn’t exactly inspiring confidence in anyone. Drinking beer at the ass crack of dawn is as unpleasant and it is damn stupid and he doesn’t think Sam will take his ‘it’s better than hard liquor’ as an actual bonus to Dean’s current plan. Dean tries to hide his beer behind his hand and Sam hasn’t commented, so it’s possible that he’s sleep-addled enough that Sam hasn’t noticed. 

Not that he should be hiding his drinking habits from his brother, but then again sometimes he wishes John Winchester had made a better effort of hiding his issues. 

“Go to bed, Dean,” Sam mutters, stretching his arms above his head. 

“Haven’t text Cas back yet,” 

“What?” Sam asks, and he’s tired enough that Dean gets away with it. 

“I’m good, Sam.” 

“Got work in like four hours,” Sam says, voice all rumbly and tired. “Not letting you work if you haven’t slept.” 

“Good luck with not letting me,” Dean bites back, but he turns the TV off anyway and heads to the sink to tip away the rest of his beer. Sam wonders back into his room like he’s forgotten why he came out of his room in the first place. Dean flicks the light off and wonders back into his bedroom. 

_I’ve landed._

Well, what is he supposed to do with that? 

Dean makes the executive decision to fuck texting and Cas’ stupid message. 

Until morning. 

Probably. 

* 

“You going out?” Sam asks, and Dean turns his gaze on him feeling his irritation levels skyrocket upwards. Sam holds his hands up in surrender, but it’s not really sufficient to reroute his anger. He is fed up of everyone walking on eggshells around him and not knowing how to reply to Cas (still and it’s been like a whole two days, the guys probably think Dean’s ignoring him… which he’s not, exactly, he’s just _busy_. Except his actually not. Sam had made good on his promise not to let Dean work the morning after Cas left, leaving him alone with his thoughts and another six pack of beer (still no hard liquor, though), before he turned up at Ellen’s in an even worse mood and got sent straight back home. 

Now it’s Friday and Pam doesn’t want him today, anyway, and he’s doing the late-late shift at Ellen’s and he’d actually riled Bobby up enough that he’d snapping at him when he’d asked for some work at the garage, so he’s been sat here twiddling his thumbs and wanting to punch something (or someone) to vent some of the frustration that’s been building since Cas dropped the leaving bomb. 

Maybe he should’ve punched Cas back. 

“Yep,” Dean says, pulling on his jacket and refusing to meet Sam’s eyes. 

“Where?” 

“Gym.” 

“Which Gym?” 

“College gym.” 

“Alone?” 

“Nope,” 

“Deaan,” Sam whines, petulant. 

“Will you quit it? I didn’t realise I was under house arrest. Jesus.” 

“I’m just curious,” Sam says, following him round the room as he grabs his duffle bag from the end of us bed and shoves it over his shoulder, “You haven’t been to the gym for ages.” 

“Yeah, and since Dad’s no longer nagging us about frigging drills, we’re both getting out of shape. And I need to punch someone, bad, and unless you want me to rearrange your face, I’d suggest butting your nose out, Sam.” 

“Who are you going with?” 

“Benny,” 

“Who’s Benny?” 

“Fucking hell, Sam,” Dean snaps, because this was at least fifty percent of why he didn’t want to have this conversation. As much as his brother gets all proud-parent when Dean manages to make a new friend (frigging embarrassing, by the way), Sam’s not gonna like Benny. “Guy from college.” 

College has been a tense subject for the past couple of days, anyway, but he can tell that Sam is repressing the desire to point out that he didn’t think Dean had friends at college, and that he’s never heard of this Benny before, and probably feeling bad that he’s now pushing for a course of action which pushes him away from his ‘friends’. And Benny isn’t even his damn friend. He’s just a guy who he happened to run into again a few days ago. 

“So, how’d you start talking?” 

“He came to the Roadhouse once,” Dean said, and because he knows Sam will only ask Ellen about it and will get the story at some point, “He used to know Gordon.” 

“Dean,” Sam says, already frowning, “You mean…?” 

“Yep,” Dean says. 

“How can you just - ?” 

“You may like to forget, Sam, but it’s not like I’ve got a clean record,” Dean says, “And Benny’s clean. And I’m late. Laters, Sammy.” 

“Dean,” Sam complains, and the kids actually pouting. It’s looking like Dean’s in for an extensive lecture about how good it is that Dean left the criminal class behind, or some shit, but he’s literally only meeting Benny because he volunteered to be punched (something about him looking wound up, and the word brother tagged on the end, and about how he worked part time at the college gym and some other crap). And anyway, in his twenty minute chat with Benny he learnt that he guy was pulled out of a life of crime by love, and Dean’s not about to try and understand or argue with that. 

So Dean shuts the door in his brother’s face and it’s actually immensely satisfying. 

* 

Dean actually hadn’t realised how much he’s out of shape until he fails to dodge one of Benny’s fists and they pause long enough to realise that Dean is damn near out of breath. Benny doesn’t say anything when Dean suggests taking a break and drinks nearly a bottle of water, trying to get his head on straight. 

_Breathe in._

John Winchester, ex-marine that he was, used to have them doing drills before Sam hit double figures. It was sensible given the occasional need to run the fuck away, or fight, but there’d been something pure about training and exercising together. Course, John would spend most of the time demanding that they try harder, push further… but, after, they’d sit exhausted and sweaty and John would offer some minimal words of praise. It was one of the first things that Sam dropped out of, but Dean kept it up long after John had given up on them. 

Until John died, at least. 

“I’m good,” Dean says, after a couple of minutes of far too much nostalgia for the setting. 

Benny, it seems, didn’t give up fighting after he gave up the dodgy stuff. He’s good. 

_Benny shifting to the right, adjust, move, don’t drop hands._

Dean’s been sitting on his fight flight instinct ever since he got to Kansas, because running away just wasn’t an option and fighting never got him anywhere good. Every so often he’d flip out and go out looking for a fight, but it generally made things worse. He hasn’t sparred with anyone for an age, either. He used to with Sam, but the snot nosed woman from the CPS had told him it was probably for the best if they cut that out completely, lest it was misconstrued as child abuse. 

If he couldn’t run, though, this seemed like a damn good alternative. 

_Opponent drawing back, front shoulder, going for a jab._

Dean misses his opportunity to duck properly from thinking too hard and jab catches his right shoulder. He tries to not to dissect the fact that it feels kind of good to hurt, as if it fills in some of his self-destruction quota without actually being the damaging. 

_Another first, dodges this time. Swing own arm whilst opponent distracted_. 

Gyms are expensive, but maybe if he sticks with Benny he can come back again for free. He can’t really justify it as an expense, otherwise, because it’s superfluous and he should be able to cope without it. It doesn’t help Sam. 

_Punch, dodge, move._

If he can’t make this thing with Benny a regular thing (and he’s not sure, he figures Benny bothered to talk to him because he thinks they’ve got some common ground, but then Dean’s not exactly known for his ability to maintain friendships), which might not work with work anyway, and definitely not with college, he guesses he could start going running. 

_Block, cover, back up._

He catches Benny with the next throw of his arm and Benny grins. He’s falling back into the rhythm of movements now, remembering how the whole thing goes. 

It’s not really the same, running, because it doesn’t have the advantage of getting to _hit_ or be hit, but at least it might help to get him back in shape. 

_Fists flying, sway back, move back, get away._

Benny next blow knocks his feet out from under him, and he’s down but, bizarrely _laughing_. He can’t remember the last time he was taken down in a fight (outside the bar sprawl that landed him in hospital and he’s not sure he can claim to have been really trying back then), and it should depress him that he got approximately one good hit in before Benny upped his game and floored him. 

“You okay, brother?” Benny asks, holding out a hand. It takes Dean a moment to think to take it, because he just realised that he’s actually been _enjoying_ himself for the past however many minutes. He had actual fun. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, and he thinks he might be fucking smiling, as he takes the hand and let’s himself be pulled up. “Think I’ll be needing a bit more practice, though.” 

He finally texts Cas after he’s drying off after his shower. He only manages to cob together a whole four words to offer up, but that’s all Dean can think of to say. It’ll be better than leaving it any longer without a reply at all and, anyway, if Dean has the prospect of replying to the stupid message hanging over his head any longer he can’t promise he won’t do something stupid to distract himself. 

_hope it’s going okay_

He’s not really surprised when Cas doesn’t reply. 

It’s pathetic excuse of a text message and, anyway, he’s not really sure he wants to talk to Cas. He doesn’t know what he wants except he doesn’t want this infuriating sense of uncertainty to piss off and leave him alone, and that he wants Cas to come back but maybe not for a little while because Dean needs to get his head screwed on again. 

* 

If one more person asks Dean how he is, he’s going to be forced to do something drastic. Sam is the worst because he’s all puppy dog eyes and rapidly growing height, so it’s hard to force out the lie that he’s _fine Sammy, quit worrying_ even though, by all accounts, he’s not doing too badly. He can’t explain how much an hour sparring with Benny had let up some of the frustrated tension that seemed to have inhabited his muscles and his brain, but he’d been pretty close to _happy_ for the few days after it. 

Things still sucked. He hadn’t heard from Cas and he knew he was probably the one supposed to be making the effort, considering the whole… thing that had happened, but having space from the whole situation was actually pretty helpful. And Sam had taken one look at him and decided not to bring up the Benny situation, which Dean was chalking up to the fact that he’d stopped snapping at everyone and drinking beer for breakfast. 

Apparently, having Dean hang out with an ex-criminal was a reasonable price to pay to have Dean in a slightly better mood. 

Now though, the irritation is beginning to settle over him again, along with the desire to get back on the road and drive the hell away from Kansas. He half wishes he could have gone with Cas and helped, even though he knows that’s impossible and Cas probably wouldn’t have wanted him there anyway. 

“You’re going out?” 

“Yep,” Dean answers, “That a crime, now?” 

“Where?” 

Dean turns around to glare at Sam and bites back a comment about he’s supposed to be the parent figure around here, because it is a bit of a joke and is a guaranteed to spark off one of Sam’s moods. Sam’s doing his summer reading because he’s a full-time geek, but has been taking a break every fifteen minutes to wander into Dean’s space and try and probe him about his feelings. It’s been driving him half crazy. 

Apparently, Ellen puts her foot down at letting him work the long shift seven days in a week, particularly when she knows he’s been working the early shift at Pam’s, too. Now he’s stuck with the evening off and exactly no desire to sit in and listen to Sam. 

“Bar, probably,” Sam makes a face. “Not gonna start a fight, Sam,” Dean says, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. 

“You haven’t been to a bar without starting a fight in years,” 

“Not true,” Dean counters, “Went to a bar with Cas.” 

“He got slapped in the face,” 

“Never said he didn’t start a fight,” Dean returns. Sam still looks worried in a way that pulls at Dean’s chest and makes him feel guilty all over again. His own brother doesn’t trust him not to come back bloodied up and it just reinforces everything everyone’s been saying; Sam needs to be able to rely on him, or else Dean isn’t the best candidate for this job anymore. “Haven’t got laid since Bella.” 

Sam gives him that slacked jawed look that teenagers get when someone starts talking about sex, before his forehead crinkles slightly. He doesn’t say _gross,_ Dean which means his little brother is totally growing up. 

“Hey Sam, do I need to give you the sex talk, yet?” 

“You already did,” Sam says, looking back down at his books with a slight flush. 

“Oh yeah,” Dean grins, “Let me know if you need a top up. Hell, after this dry spell I think _I_ might need a top up.” 

“Don’t be loud,” Sam says, but he looks slightly mollified as he glances back down at his books. 

“S’not usually me who’s loud, Sam,” Dean leers. 

“Jerk,” 

“Bitch,” Dean grins, and then pauses at the doorway, “Are there any girls Sammy? Or boys. You know, whoever.” 

Dean’s face is burning slightly at the mention of the whole boys thing, and he has a feeling that Sam has picked up on it. His brother would probably pin it down to Dean being slightly homophobic than something happening with Cas, but that’s probably worse. Probably. 

“Girls,” Sam says. 

“No need to be so deceive about it right now,” Dean says, “You’re sixteen.” 

Sam has stopped hiding his love life embarrassment in his textbook and is instead staring flat out at Dean, mapping out his expression and trying to read more out of that Dean was actually trying to say. 

“I’m just saying,” Dean says, because the silence is very loud, “that I’d be cool with it.” 

“Me too, Dean,” Sam says, staring straight at him. Dean feels the sudden urge to swallow but isn’t entirely sure whether he can. Sam is probably the best brother at all time, but he’s also too perceptive for his own good. “Well, I’m glad that we’ve got that off our chests,” Dean says, with an obnoxious eye roll that’s definitely over compensating and Sam knows it. “You should go hand out with your friends,” Dean continues, “Its summer. Quit reading. There’s a twenty on the side if you wanna go catch a movie.” 

“The point of me having a job is that I pay for my own movies,” Sam says, glancing back up at him. Sam got his first pay cheque and since they’ve been having variations of the same argument about money at every opportunity. Sam is attempting to wear him down by constantly nagging him about it and going on and on about logic and trying to serve him up guilt trips. Dean actually has Ellen and Bobby’s support on this one, so Sam’s cries of ‘I can help with the electricity bill’ are going completely ignored by all, which is just making Sam irritable. 

Between that and Dean’s bad mood, Dean’s becoming increasingly aware about what a pain it is to live in such close quarters with his brother. They’ve both been winding each other up, which is part of the reason Dean wants to go out in the first place. Socialising with someone who isn’t his little brother sounds like a frigging excellent idea. He’s trying to convince himself that it has nothing to do with what happened the last time he saw Cas, but he hasn’t quite managed it. 

“I can cover you going out, Sam.” 

“Well then, what am I supposed to do with my money? You won’t let me pay for clothes, or food, or going out so…” 

“I don’t know, Sam. Porn. Save it for college. Give it to the homeless. Whatever you like, just don’t give it to me.” 

“Wow,” Sam says dryly, “I didn’t know you were going to let me pay for some of college myself.” 

“Only your spending money,” Dean says, “You’re not missing out on a social life just because I can’t provide for you.” 

“Dean,” Sam complains, dropping his book onto the table with a scowl, “That’s not your job!” 

“And it’s not your job to be such a pain in the ass, but you're damn good at it." Dean returns, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

* 

Dean winds up staying at this girl called Taylar’s place, because it leaves out having to explain the sixteen year old he has guardianship over and means he can make a getaway early, necessary both because he has work and because he’s never been one to hang around. He’d been unsure about whether the whole thing would make him feel better or worse about everything, but he’s most of the way through his shift at Pam’s and he’s leaning towards feeling better. 

It’s kind of the equivalent of letting Benny punch him in the face, because at least he doesn’t feel wound up so tight even if it hasn’t actually _achieved_ anything. He certainly didn’t think for a moment about leaving his number or anything like that, but… he hasn’t actively sort out sex for a long time, which isn’t really the MO for Dean Winchester, and he thinks that it’s probably a good thing that he’s acting more like himself. 

He’s doing things for him, which is what Cas and Sam and the rest have been going on about. They don’t necessarily have to approve of the things he does but, well, it’s been quite a while since Dean actually factored himself into any decision making process. Small steps. 

Course, Sam ruins it all by turning up just before lunchtime and informing him, far too loudly, that he’s got a letter from the CPS and they’re coming round to check up on Sam the following week. He says this loud enough for Charlie to hear and, although Charlie had given him a ‘you totally got laid last night’ high five when he came in this morning, Dean has yet to go into the gritty details about Sam and Dean’s life. Including the guardianship thing. It just never really came up. 

The check-ups are never that bad but Dean builds them up too much in is head, till every time he’s nearly convinced that they’re going to take Sam away from him and lose him in the system, even though Sam’s sixteen and is basically an adult anyway. If they tried to say Dean wasn’t capable of looking after him, they’d manage to get him put with Ellen or have him declared an emancipated teen, but it’s all still a damn pain in the neck. He’s half convinced himself that they’ll think he’s forcing Sam to work his keep and will have a problem with the fact that Dean’s got half of his best friend’s stuff shoved in the back of his room, when Sam throws another spanner into the works. 

“And Ellen, Pam and Bobby want to talk to you about the number of hours you’re working before then,” Sam says, looking the very picture of someone who’s wanted to say something similar for days, but has been resisting, “because you can’t lie to the CPS, and they might be concerned about the number of hours you’re leaving me alone while you’re working.” 

It’s a dirty fucking trick and Dean refuses to speak to him for the rest of his shift. 

He texts Cas on his way to Walmart, because apparently everyone else is involved in the conspiracy. And because he misses Cas and, even though it’s messed up and illogical, he feels more like he can talk to his best friend now he’s gone and got laid. Not that he’s going to mention that to Cas. 

_CPS coming next week. Sam’s being a little shit about it_

Cas replies comes almost instantly. 

_I had heard that teenagers have the capacity to be ‘little shits’. What’s he done now?_

It’s pretty alarming how grateful Dean is for one measly text message. 

_Conspiring against me bout how many hours I work.”_

_He probably has a point_ Cas replies and then, right after _And don’t worry about the CPS visit. It will be fine_. 

Dean swallows. He can imagine Cas’ exact expression as he types out the words with that precise concentration. Of course Cas saw right through his message and picked up on the worry about the CPS visit. 

Dean knows it will be fine. They’re always a few days of excessive stressing and phone calls to Ellen (because she’s the only other one who really gets the CPS related worry) followed by something that turns out to be not that bad, really. He gets judgemental looks about a number of his life choices and has to suppress the urge to kick whoever it is out of his apartment or yell at them that a particular question is none of their business, but then it’s done. 

_You okay?_ Dean texts, because Cas is the one off on some emotional journey whilst Dean is stuck here. Cas should be the one with the updates. He’s always been incredibly selfish in regards to Cas. 

_I’m leaving Baltimore in a few days_ It doesn’t really answer the question, but it’s something. 

_take care of yourself , Cas_

Dean slips his phone back into his pocket and get backs to grocery shopping. At least a couple of text messages isn’t complete radio silence, which means Cas hasn’t written him off completely despite the whole necking in the Impala fiasco. With the aid of a couple of text messages, he can handle this. 

Probably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They'll be more Cas in the next chapter... but look at all this shiny progress Dean is making!


	21. Chapter 21

Dean’s been given a frigging promotion and he’s so angry about it that he can’t think straight. 

Sam’s trying to chuck logic at him like it helps whatsoever and Ellen’s sending him these looks like he’s being unreasonable, whilst Pamela is just reclining back on one of Bobby’s dining chairs like she’d expected this the whole time. Dean’s pretty sure that Bobby left to get some better whiskey (for himself, apparently Dean isn’t allowed any) and the fact that there’s alcohol involved is the only thing that’s preventing this from feeling like a god damn parents evening. His parental substitutes and his employers (and he’s not even gonna go into the overlaps) are meeting together to discuss his progress, or some shit, and he doesn’t like it any more than he did actual parents evenings. Although, at least someone’s turned up for him this time. 

“A shift manager,” Dean repeats and it comes out a little more confrontational than he necessarily intended, but goddam his little brother. He didn’t need Sam giving his three employers the puppy eyes and a sob story. He doesn’t need a pity promotion to a job he’s pretty damn sure Pam just made up. The whole thing is frigging ridiculous. “And what the damn hell is that supposed to be?” 

“Dean,” Ellen scolds, and Dean wants to send her a look but he values his manhood a little too much to risk it. 

“Steve was caught with his hand in the till a couple of weeks back,” Pamela shrugs, as if that explains everything. 

“Well that’s convenient,” Dean bites back, even though he knows damn well it’s true. And Steve had been a superior dick who’d spent half the time laying into the other staff, but he also knows that he’s not exactly qualified to be a shift manager, whatever the fuck that actually means. He’s a waiter and he’s only good at that because he learnt to flirt himself out of most situations years ago. “So, what, you want me to accept this new _position_ ,” Dean makes sure to make the word sound as disdainful as possible, and Pam’s lips curl upwards in response, “And this pity pay rise and then, what, quit my other two jobs?” 

“Cut down,” Ellen interjects, “You’re my best bartender. I’m not losing you.” 

“Why?” Dean asks. 

“Maybe because you work too damn hard, boy,” Bobby says, “And Sam says you wanna stick it out with college.” 

“That’s not what I said,” Dean complains, turning his gaze on Sam. His brother doesn’t have the graciousness to pretend to be sheepish, but is instead beaming like this whole thing is Christmas come early. Stupid frigging teenagers and their grand plans. At least when he was at school he was otherwise occupied. 

“What you say aint really a good indication of what you mean,” Bobby interjects. 

“And you’re the best candidate I have,” Pam says, “The others will listen to you and you’ve got the experience to back it up.” 

“What if I refuse?” 

“Then you’re fired,” Pam says, because she always does her best to be as irritating as possible. Dean presses his hands to his forehead and swallows. He hates this. He hates Sam’s interfering mouth and the fact that his puppy eyes could take down anyone, especially Bobby and Ellen who are complete sweethearts all wrapped up in cranky exteriors. And Pam, apparently, who seems to just love his little brother. “Your choice, sweet cheeks.” 

He could pretty much pay for rent, food and bills with just the diner job, if he’s careful. This shift manager crap apparently means a few more hours a week, and a helluva increase in the pay cheque…and, somehow, he still gets tips for some of his work time (and, really, why the hell would Steve steal from the tills on top of that? The whole thing is actually a pretty sweet deal). He’s sure that Pam is making most of the perks up, but he can’t prove it. 

Ellen already gave him a lecture about only leaving room for four hours’ sleep between shifts at the Roadhouse and shifts at the diner, and informed him that she and Pam will be ‘keeping in touch’ about the whole thing. Other than the fact that it’s pretty ominous, it means that Dean’s being forcibly regulated to the earlier shifts except on Friday and Saturday night because, oh yeah, Dean gets weekends off from Pam’s now. 

But… that means that money from shifts at the Roadhouse could go straight into his savings and maybe he’d have time to put more hours in at Bobby’s, which he actually enjoys and… and it’s actually pretty awesome, except for the fact that he doesn’t need this stupid pity party and this stupid promotion that he doesn’t deserve. 

“No working more than sixty hours a week,” Ellen says, “Thirty five when college starts back up.” 

Dean’s honest to god about to object, when Sam pipes up. 

“You limited me to fourteen hours a week,” 

“Yeah, well, I’m your guardian.” 

“And as far as I’m concerned, Dean Winchester, I’m yours,” Ellen snaps, “And I’m putting your holiday pay in your bank account whether you like it or not, and you’re going to take a few days off and take your brother away somewhere if I have to chase you out of town myself.” 

“Ellen,” Dean says, “Can’t take time off right after I’ve been promoted. Irresponsible.” 

“Does that mean you’ll do it?” Sam asks. 

“Well, I can’t pay for shit with just bartending and helping Bobby out,” Dean says, holding out his hands. Technically, plenty of people _do_ manage to survive off just two jobs (or even one, he supposes, but that’s pretty foreign territory as far as Dean’s concerned), but he still hasn’t quite paid off the last medical disaster and really needs to get a move on with Sam’s college fund. Plus, he’s been thinking for a while that buying actual honest to god medical insurance might be a smart move, although fuck knows how much that will cost them. “And you heard the lady. Doesn’t look like I have much choice.” 

Pam quirks up her eyebrows. They all know that Pam wouldn’t fire him, but then they all know that Dean doesn’t actually have a choice about this. He’s been ganged up on. This is just a conspiracy to make his life easier masquerading as a choice, because it’s been proven time and time again that Dean doesn’t tend to pick the easy route. Still, it’s nice of Pam to pretend to blackmail into it, so in the middle of the night when he’s chewing himself out about accepting charity, he can at least try and pretend that he didn’t have a choice. 

Dean doesn’t quite know how he managed to wind up with so many people willing to go out of their way to help him, but they’re all stubborn bastards. And maybe it’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. 

“You best work that sweet ass of yours off, Winchester,” Pamela says, standing up and heading for the door. Ellen gets up and walks her out, probably busy conspiring about other ways to ruin Dean’s life. He’s pretty sure this new Ellen and Pam partnership is gonna kill him. 

“Where d’ya fancy, Sammy?” Dean asks. 

“What?” 

“This vacation we’re apparently having.” 

“You’re serious?” Sam asks, blinking at him. It’s similar to the slack jawed expression he got when he didn’t argue too much about Sam working (before Sam twigged onto the strings attached) and he’s once again struck by how good it feels to give Sam exactly what he wants. It’s actually nice to just give in rather than fighting everything every step of the way and… yeah, a vacation would actually be kinda nice. They haven’t been on one for years and maybe it’ll help with Dean’s ever present desire to drive the hell away from Kansas. 

“Don’t have an aneurism, Sam, it’ll be like a long weekend tops. And you’re planning it.” 

“Okay,” Sam says, practically grinning from ear to ear. And thanks to the new sanctions he’s been placed under, Dean doesn’t have to work till eleven tomorrow… so he decides to hang out at Bobby’s for another few hours. 

Sam disappears to Bobby’s front room because there’s some geeky thing he wanted to watch on TV, so Dean turns on to his favourite topic of Sam related updates. He tells Bobby and Ellen (again) about how good Sam’s finals grades were, and how Sam’s been charming all the customers at the diner and all about the vague mentions of Sam’s friends, even though Dean’s never met any of them. He’s pretty aware that they both already know about all of this crap and it’s the sort of conversation that Jo would tease him about for months if she heard, but… when he looks at how great Sam’s doing the whole cluster fuck of the past year doesn’t seem quite so awful anymore. Even if Sam’s summer vacation means he’s bored and twice as annoying as normal, which is probably what led to this business of Sam pushing. 

“And how’s your angel?” Bobby asks, finally pouring Dean a glass of the good stuff and sliding it over the table to him. Ellen raises her eyebrows in interest, too. 

“Cas?” Dean questions, looking down at his glass, “He’s somewhere in Indiana.” 

“Huh,” Bobby says. 

“How’s his quest going?” 

“Dunno, really,” Dean says, “You know Cas. Not exactly forthcoming with information.” 

“You asked?” 

“Uh,” Dean says, thinking back to the sparse conversations he’s been exchanging with Cas. They’ve been talking almost daily now, but not about anything important. They’re falling back onto the track of discussing the mundane how-was-your-day kind of stuff rather than mentioning anything that’s happened in the past few weeks. So, no, instead of asking _how are you feeling about your quest to find your screw up father_ Dean’s messages have been more on the lines of _where are you?_. 

Bobby rolls his eyes. 

“That boy’s been pretty handy,” Bobby continues, “Driving you about. Helping you with the studying. Helping you set things straight with Sam.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, his mouth feeling suddenly dry, “I know.” 

“Do you?” Bobby asks. 

“What?” 

“Seems like that kid shows up out of the blue and plays a big part in pulling you out of your rut, then you go throw a tantrum when he leaves to go deal with a couple of issues of his own. Least you can do is ask if he’s doing okay.” 

“It’s complicated,” Dean says, because he’s not really sure he wants to go into his potential gay crisis with his substitute father, not least because he hasn’t processed it in his head under those terms yet. He’s sticking to making this a thing to deal with within the scope of his relationship with Cas, rather than having anything to do with Dean and anyone else. 

“He’s got daddy issues, Dean, maybe you can relate.” Ellen, this time. Dean’s staring at the both of them feeling slightly slack jawed and shocked, because whilst he knows that he’s selfish in regard to Cas (whilst with other people he doesn’t really allow that kind of selfishness), he hadn’t realised it was so transparent. “Maybe he shouldn’t have bruised you up, but he’s hurting, Dean.” 

“And this aint an attack on you, either,” Bobby buts in. 

“What are you calling it then?” Dean asks, because as far as he’s concerned this whole thing is an attack. First, he’s been attacked for working too hard and next he’s being asked for not regularly asking Cas about his man pain. Sam’s had it out with him before about how he takes every discussion about how he’s doing as a personal attack, and maybe the kid’s got a point, but this… this right here is definitely an attack. 

“Some advice,” Ellen says, clapping him on the shoulder. 

* 

_You free?_

It takes Dean half an hour of sitting in bed with his thumb hovering over the send button before he eventually talks himself into pressing it. He’s pretty sure that Cas _won’t_ be free because it’s even later where Cas is, which is probably which finally convinces him that it’s a good idea. 

Except, evidentially his logic is all off kilter, because Cas replies within a minute with the worst possible answer _yes_ And, course, while labouring under the delusion that Cas would be asleep somewhere, he’d already agreed with himself that if Cas was free he’d just call him. 

Dean’s heart beats inexplicably fast in the moments after he hits dial. 

“Hello, Dean,” 

He almost asks Cas what he’s wearing, but then he’s worried that Cas will miss the joke or, worse, he won’t. The last thing their friendship needs is Dean making jokes about phone sex, particular when Cas has _that voice_ and it’s kinda taking Dean back to the moment in the Impala, which was completely not what he intended to happen with this phone call. And fuck, that actually happened. 

“Hey, Cas,” He settles for instead, it’s safer anyway, “How you holding up? You get what you needed in Baltimore?” 

“Yes, I got everything I required.” 

“So Balthazar was helpful, then?” Dean says, because he’s an asshole. It comes out a little more like jealousy than it was supposed to, but he’s sure Cas won’t read too much into it. Or at least, who won’t call him out on it, which is probably good enough when he doesn’t have to see they guy for a month or so. 

“Not intentionally,” Cas replies, his voice this deep grounding force that already has Dean’s shoulder’s relaxing slightly. It’s strange that he’d been so worried about this and strange that he’d put this off, when all he’s really wanted to do is talk to Cas. “I stole the numbers I required from his cell phone.” 

Unless Cas did something smart and swiped his sim card or something (which doesn’t scream stealth, particularly) that must have taken time. He guesses that Cas could have just stole his phone, or asked to borrow it, but in Dean’s head Cas stole the stupid contacts whilst Balthazar slept in the bed next to him. He doesn’t like the idea of it but doesn’t particularly want to sound more jealous than he did back there, even though he’s not entirely sure he _is_. 

He wouldn’t really have a leg to stand on if he was jealousy, and you have to want things to be jealousy and that’s a whole other issue… but his over awareness of the usual patterns of jealousy probably means quite a lot. 

“So now you’re hunting down your Dad’s old buddies?” 

“Yes,” Castiel says, “I’m leaving Muncie tomorrow and heading west.” 

“Any of it come to anything yet?” Dean asks, swallowing. He knows what’s it’s like to be searching for someone, but at least Sam and John Winchester always gave him enough clues that he knew where he was supposed to look. Sam always meant for Dean to follow, really, because Sam wasn’t ready to give Dean up just yet. One day, he would be, but he was self-aware enough as a teenager and before that to know that he needed Dean, so every time he disappeared into the ether there were slight clues; half accidental mentions of places he’d wanted to go weeks before, or else Sam would use one of their credit cards instead of cash or leave the GPS on on his phone. They were small commiserations when Dean was busy piecing together bits of information and tearing down the highway, hoping to hell Sam hadn’t decided to _frigging hitchhike_ or something dumb like that… but, when Dean had Sam back he used those scraps of available information to partially convince himself that Sam didn’t want out really. “Any of them know where he went?” 

Cas, though, Cas has got a whole load of nothing. He barely even knows what he’s chasing. There’s just this figure he idolised, once upon a time, that disappeared without leaving so much as a smoke cloud in his wake. Dean would place his money on dead, remarried with another family or sitting in some nuthouse, but he knows Cas doesn’t want to hear that. He’s sure of one thing, though; Cas’ Dad simply doesn’t want to be found. 

“No,” Cas says, “Although, I am discovering more about him than I knew previously. I have been told he was very creative.” 

“Creative,” Dean repeats, because it’s probably the last word he’d pin to Cas, “Not seeing the resemblance, Cas, unless you’ve got a paintbrush hidden in that trench coat of yours.” 

“Gabriel and Anna were very creative,” Cas says, thoughtfully, “Lucifer too, when he was younger.” 

“Dude, I’m still not over your brother being called _Lucifer_.” He can practically hear Cas’ smile over the phone and presses it harder against his skull, as if he could someone press close enough that he might see Cas’ features. “You got enough money?” 

“Yes, Dean,” 

“Cause, you know, you’re taking to Pamela Barnes’ newest shift Manager,” Dean says, which of course sparks an explanation and Dean whining. 

Cas is evidentially as behind this turn of events as everyone else had been (although Cas expresses it a lot more subtly than the rest of them, his voice only changing ever so slightly in a way that Dean knows means he’s smiling) and, because he likes earning Cas’ small smiles, he tells him about sparring with Benny (although he leaves out the one night stand). In return, Cas tells him about crappy motels and dinner food in a way that makes Dean wistful, but not quite. Cas asks about the upcoming CPS visit and Sam’s job, and Dean pushes Cas into revealing the other information he’d squeezed out of one of his father’s friends that he managed to persuade into talking to him. 

It’s not till Dean glances at the clock that he realises they’ve been talking for nearly an hour. Dean’s not really the phone call type, although that’s probably indicative of how few people he’s had to keep in contact with. The only person he really calls and just chats to is Ellen and that usually started out as a call about work that happened to derail into one of their parenting talks about Sam or Jo. Still, he’s never stayed onto the line with Ellen for this length of time and he’s not sure whether he’ll wind up getting charged for this. 

“Cas I’ve gotta go,” Dean sighs, and somehow he’s already curled up in bed and talking to Cas like those things fit together that easily, “But I’m glad you’re okay. You let me know if you need me.” 

“You too, Dean,” Cas says, and that damn near floors him for a second. 

“And we should, uh, do this again,” 

“I would like that.” 

“Night,” 

“Goodnight, Dean,” Cas says, and something about the moment has him tripping over his thoughts to the point where he forgets he’s supposed to hang up, so he’s on the line for a good few seconds just listening to Cas’ breathing, because apparently Cas is just as incompetent as he is. He’ll be damned if he lets this turn into a ‘you hang up’ first competition, so he hangs up the second he twigs and sets his phone down on his bedside table. 

He falls to sleep with this odd heat settling in his gut which he knows must take some root in the way Cas said goodnight, it’s just that he doesn’t know what it extrapolates too. He knows that there’s something far too inviting about having Cas’ breathing in earshot, about Cas’ voice offering his goodnight, but he doesn’t know what it actually means beyond that. 

He hasn’t got a damn clue. It’s not like he’s done this for a while. Or ever, really. 

* 

“What about this hotel?” Sam asks, turning his aging laptop screen towards where Dean is desperately trying to vacuum the sofa. He’d banned Sam from attempting to help with his maniacal cleaning a couple of hours ago, but that doesn’t mean he needs Sam going on about his latest project whilst he’s freaking out over here. Figures Dean has the only sixteen year old brother who _researches_ a damn vacation. 

Dean chooses to continue wresting with the vacuum cleaner and ignore him. It had taken him a good twenty minutes to remember how to empty the frigging thing (it’s not like Dean doesn’t keep the place clean, because he does, but he doesn’t hoover the sofa on a whim and it’s been a while since he’s had to empty the bag) and now he’s trying to get the end bit back on the hoover so he can finish up with the floor, only the thing is conspiring against him. 

“Dean, what are you doing?” Sam asks. 

“Cleaning,” Dean grunts in response, except looking up at Sam distracts him enough that he winds him hitting himself in the head with the part of the vacuum he’s been trying to reattach, “So that your ass isn’t put into care.” 

“Yeah,” Sam says, “Most of the kids I know in foster care wound up there cause the CPS thought their sofas were too dusty.” 

“Shut up,” 

“You need to press the button,” 

“There’s like ten buttons!” Dean says, throwing his hands up in frustration. He’s at a loss as to how he can take apart and fix a car and yet be utterly baffled by the damn vacuum. There’s like multiple settings and a thing that’s supposed to make it easier to vacuum round corners, but somehow it’s completely floored him. “The hell is this so complicated?” 

“Do you have the manual?” Sam asks, looming over his shoulder and looking down at the vacuum. He doesn’t know when Sam got tall enough to start looming and he doesn’t like it (maybe he’s partially crouching, but Sam’s still getting tall, fast). At least Sam’s stopped going on about the damn holiday, though. 

“No, Sam, I don’t have the god damn manual. Used to be Ellen’s, I think, so if you want the manual you’re gonna have to take it up with her.” 

“Relax, Dean.” Sam says, which is so unhelpful it’s unreal, “Everything looks fine.” 

“Yeah, but you grew up in a motel. Your standards are skewed. That’s most of the problem.” 

“Here,” Sam says, pushing him out the way. Sam went through a phase when he was really into magic tricks and Dean’s pretty sure there’s some wizardry involved in the way Sam presses the same damn button he’s been pressing for the past five minutes and easily reattaches the nozzle-bit to the rest of the hoover. He turns it on to prove a point, then raises his eyebrow in Dean’s direction. 

“How’d you do that?” Dean huffs. 

“I hoover,” 

“Don’t tell the CPS woman that,” 

“Dean,” Sam says, rolling his eyes and no doubt about to chastise him for stressing about the whole thing too much when the doorbell rings. Early. Twenty minutes earlier than the letter had said and Dean pretty much hates all people who turn up twenty minutes early to things, so that’s a bad start. 

“Hide the vacuum,” Dean says, doing a recheck of himself and Sam to make sure they both look like functional human beings. He’d forced Sam into wearing one his of newer t-shirts and pulled something that wasn’t too worn out of his own wardrobe, cleaned out the whole apartment twice over, hid all the hard liquor under his bed and then tried to make the place look lived in again, like he hadn’t just cleaned everything specially. He’d gone over everything the CPS woman was likely to bring up with Sam over breakfast (him busting his arm, Sam’s grades, Dean’s grades and, yes, the amount of hours Dean works). 

Sam looks like he wants to tell Dean he’s being ridiculous, but doesn’t say anything. Dean panicking is pretty much a routine by this point. 

“Where?” 

“My room,” 

“You’ve got all Cas’ stuff in your room,” 

“Well we can’t put it in your room,” Dean says, “Bathroom? But then if she goes –” 

“– I’ll put it in your alcohol cupboard in the kitchen,” Sam says. 

“Shuussh,” Dean mutters, gesturing wildly towards the door. 

“Answer the door,” Sam says with another eye roll. Any other day Dean would make a comment about him rolling eyes so much, but he’s otherwise distracted by the prospect of the CPS visit… which will be fine. Everything is going to be absolutely fine. 

* 

“How was it?” Cas asks from somewhere west from where he was last time he called, although he’s been a bit general on the specifics this time. He’s watching the shitty program that Sam’s gotten really into since the holidays started with Sam stretched out across the sofa next to him, with a half forgotten beer hovering round his foot and a slice of pizza in his other hand. He feels a bit weird about having Sam in the room when he’s on the phone to Cas, as if Sam is somehow invading something personal even though they’re just talking. 

“Uh, I survived,” Dean says, taking a bite of pizza and continuing to talk anyway, “Woman didn’t like me, but it’s kinda hard to argue when Sam’s a straight A student with lots of friends and puppy dog eyes.” 

“Did she have a problem with Sam working?” 

“No,” Dean concedes, because he’d been worried about it. Sam repeatedly telling him that practically all of his friends have jobs, even during school time, hasn’t made him feel any better about it. He guesses they all have parents trying to teach their kids the meaning of money by making them work for it, but Sam knows the meaning of money all too well. “Had a problem with me busting up my arm, ‘long with the rest of the world.” 

There’d been a crushing weight of dread when the woman (older than the people they usually send round and not too impressed about his vague attempts at flirting) bought it up. It wouldn’t quite have said ‘bar fight’ in his file but he’s pretty sure she read it there any way, correlating it up with all the other information they have on him (including a couple of police cautions and theft charge that was dropped, thank fuck) and was judging him so hard. 

“Tried to make it positive by going on about how it meant I had time for college,” Dean continues, taking another bite of pizza despite the look that Sam gives him for talking with his mouth open. It’s not like Cas can see, so Dean makes a point to open his mouth wider like the douchebag he is. Sam grimaces and looks away. “And finished off by saying how I wanted to spend more time with Sam, which I could now do cause of my promotion… Sammy loved it. Where are you, anyway?” 

“I am on a coach to Indianapolis,” Cas says, “On route to Chicago.” 

“Damn,” Dean breathes, “been a long time since we were in Chicago. When was it, Sam? You were, what, eight?” 

“Six,” Sam answers from beside him. 

“Right,” Dean says, “We moved out that summer cause Dad didn’t want you settling in a city when school started back up.” 

“And you hated Chicago,” 

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, “I did hate it. How’s the road, Cas?” 

“Long,” Cas answers and Dean feels himself smiling without precisely meaning to, because he gets that. Although travelling on a coach rather than his baby sounds kinda like hell, but the idea of movement… he can always get behind movement. 

If he wants to get all introspective about it, he could probably pin it down to a desire to keep moving away from his problems so he doesn’t have to deal with them, which is why everything in his head is so clogged up lately. He’s used to driving away and skipping town whenever things go wrong, but now he has to stick around and face the consequence. Like the bank robbery, the CPS and Castiel. 

“Sam’s planning our vacation,” Dean says, reaching down to take his beer in hand, “Getting all nerdy about it. We have a frigging itinerary, a four point plan, think Sam’s got every service stop planned out. Only got like six days, so we can’t get too far but…” 

“Dean, I have to go. There is a woman attempting to sleep.” 

“All right, you upstanding citizen you. Enjoy your coach. Text me if it’s not too loud.” 

“Goodbye, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean smiles at his phone for a few second before he realises that Sam is staring at him with an unreadable expression which makes Dean feel overexposed, which isn’t something he tends to feel in front of his little brother. 

Sam’s got his ever growing legs folded and his pad of paper balanced on top of it. He’s got his laptop open on some tourist thing that actually sounds kinda awful but that Dean won’t complain about, because this vacation is a hundred percent up to Sam, and his pen has paused halfway through another budget calculation to look at him. 

“What?” Dean asks, unable to take any more of the perceptiveness that Sam’s channelling in his direction. 

“Maybe we should just drive,” Sam says, setting down his pen, “Just pick a direction and drive, like we used to.” 

“You hated it,” 

“Not all of it,” Sam says. It sounds like Sam’s having difficulty drawing the words out of his mouth; like these are realisation that he’s only just come to, or else they’re things he’d rather not admit. Dean’s certainly never heard anything of the sort from Sam. Sam was always complaining about the travelling, and not settling, and the crappy motels and the dinner food. Sam hated all the bits about their life that Dean actually liked, which was why Dean was squeezing himself into Sam’s concept of normal even though he was the wrong sort of person to be rotting in here. 

“Thought you wanted a proper vacation,” Dean says, frowning, “A hotel and a national park and stuff. You dig this white picket fence shit.” 

“It’s not really us,” Sam counters, “We’re not… we’re not a normal family, Dean. We’d just be pretending. Normal families have parents and go to Disney World. They don’t have CPS visits and brothers working three jobs to pay off funeral costs.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, voice tight, “but if you wanna play normal, we can play normal.” 

“No,” Sam says, “We can’t.” 

“Damnit, Sam, what do you want me to say?” 

“Nothing,” Sam says, frowning, “It’s just…. I think we should just drive. Eat at dinners. Sleep at motels. I think I miss the road too, Dean. This place is… kinda small.” 

“Am I hearing this right? You miss the road?” 

“Yeah,” Sam breathes, shutting his pad of paper and turning towards him with a strange excited expression that Dean doesn’t see all that often, “I do. I really do. That summer in Chicago… I remember that. It was a good summer.” 

“Well we sure as shit won’t make it to Chicago,” 

“No,” Sam says, “But we could get somewhere.” 

“You were always running because you hated the way we lived,” Dean says, flat out, “I’m finding this change of heart pretty difficult to keep up with, here. Level with me here, Sam, you think you’re doing me a favour with this?” 

“Dean,” Sam says, “You just said it. I was running too.” 

“We gotta come back too, you know.” 

“That’s why I wanna leave,” Sam says, and maybe Dean kind of gets it. Sam always was like that… running away from Dean and John but leaving the paths open for them to catch up and bring him home. He’s always been elastic, too; pushing the boundaries as far as possible before snapping back into line. Anyway, it’s difficult to disbelieve that glint in Sam’s eye and, yeah, maybe Sam does miss the road… which is as much of a relief as it is painful. It’s good that Sam didn’t totally hate their whole childhood, as it means Dean didn’t fail completely, but… god damn, he wishes John Winchester had known that Sam had some affection for the way things used to be. He wishes they’re Dad had gotten to hear this, because he knows John would feel like Dean does – like he’s just been let off the hook for a decade long mistake. “So, can we?” 

Dean’s never been able to resist those puppy dog eyes. 

“Sure,” Dean says, “Let’s drive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas is back in the chapter after next... which should be, uh, interesting.


	22. Chapter 22

They wind up at Ouachita National Forest because it’s sort of on route to the coastline, which seemed as good a direction as any to drive in. He’s missed open spaces and trekking across the middle of nowhere not quite aimlessly, but near enough. He’s definitely missed Sam, though; it’s been difficult to make time to actually spend with his brother lately, instead of just coexisting in the same apartment and occasionally talking about what to have for dinner.

“You know,” Sam says, whilst they’re leaning against the side of the Impala looking out over the miles and miles of trees, “It’s kinda weird without Dad.” 

He’s got a beer and his brother and four hundred miles distance between him and his life, and he doesn’t really feel like talking about their dead father right now. For Sam this pilgrimage back into their old ways might be a delayed part of his grieving process, but Dean’s still kinda too mad at John to think about it like that. 

Sam had bitched and griped and moaned his whole life, whilst Dean had bit back every damn complaint he had. Now, Sam’s anger is all spent and he can just accept John for what he was, but Dean feels like he’s only just starting to get angry. 

“I don’t wanna do this, Sammy,” 

“What?” 

“Sit here and talk about Dad like most of this wasn’t a bad memory for you,” 

“It wasn’t like that, Dean,” Sam says. He can feel Sam’s weary frustration radiating off him, like Dean’s the annoying one for not instantly getting what’s going on in Sam’s head. Maybe Dean knows Sam better than anyone, but he never could fathom out everything that went down between his brother and his Dad, just because his own perspective was tainted. He didn’t understand how Sam overlooked certain details, or why Sam kept pushing when they all knew it was easier to let it slide. 

“Wasn’t it?” Dean asks. “Maybe Dad wasn’t always around, but he was trying to do right by you.” 

“It wasn’t about me,” Sam snaps, “I was mad because I didn’t have a brother anymore.” 

“What, you need your eyes checking? I’m right here, Sam.” 

“You were working,” 

“I had to,” 

“Exactly, Dean. Dad put that on you and I had to live with the fact that you were ruining your life to look after me. You dropped out of school cause Dad dumped us in Missouri for two months with no money, and I had to watch you do that. For me.” Sam says, turning those eyes on him. 

He can remember that, actually, and the tension in the room when John Winchester came back. Dean had tried to wipe the whole thing under the carpet, but Sam had stood square in the doorway and forced them into talking about it. It’s not like Dad had been happy with it, either, once he’d realised what Dean had done, but by then he’d already made up his mind. And he’d never really had a choice. 

“No one’s life is ruined, okay? And I didn’t like high school, Sam, I was itching to get out –” 

“ – because you never had a chance to,” Sam says, throwing up his hands, “We were moving schools a couple of times a year, you were only there half the time and you never had a chance to study cause you were busy breaking the law with Dad or working night shifts you didn’t think I knew about. I wanted you to go to college because I want you to have a life again and you still couldn’t do it because you still have to work, because of me. You know how that feels, Dean? You gave up your _life_ for me.” 

“I’m still alive, Sam, don’t get ahead of yourself,” Dean mutters, sucking in a deep breath and staring out over the forest. “And what, now you’re not mad anymore?” 

“No,” Sam says, “I’m not.” 

“How?” 

“I guess I just realised it wasn’t worth it,” Sam says, “It’s not gonna change anything. And you’re right. This isn’t your whole life. I still _hate_ that you have to do all this for me but… it’s not like I can blame Dad for dying.” 

“Can’t you?” Dean mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “S’gonna get dark, soon. We should get back on the road. Find a motel and some food.” 

“I miss him,” Sam says, “Didn’t think I’d ever say that…. But I do. I know he was trying. And I know you miss him too, Dean, even though you don’t like to talk about it.” 

“Wish I didn’t,” Dean says, even though he regrets it the moment the words leave his lips. He usually aims to cut off these conversations the second they start and he’s already let this one go on too long, but it smacks of their usual ways of dealing with emotional situations. 

“What?” 

“Dad was a selfish bastard,” Dean grits out, “Who barked out orders like I was some mindless soldier and put looking after you on me to make me fall into line.” Dean’s already pushing himself off the edge of the Impala and heading back to the car, pausing for a moment, “You wanna drive, Sam?” 

“Yeah,” Sam says, because there’s nothing more they can say. John Winchester wasn’t a bad person by any means, but it was just that he made a bunch of bad decision with bad consequences that haven’t quite stop unfolding yet. And Dean has to live with those consequences. 

Maybe one day he’ll be at the same point where Sam is, where he can learn to live with it all and forgive John for everything, but not yet. 

So Sam takes the keys out of Dean’s outstretched fingers and they drive the hell away from everything. 

* 

The motel room has that scratchy, just clean enough to meet health standards (ish) feel about it and Dean can’t explain how good it feels to sink back into this aspect of his old life. He’d had to brace himself to step under the spray of a shower that never warmed up, and he and Sam had both opted to use the single towel without the stain, meaning it’s still mostly damp. He’s half expecting to hear John tell him to hurry the hell up any minute, because he’s walked right back into his personal history. 

One social worker had gone on about how she still used to hear her late fiancé’s car in the driveway for months after (some I-understand-your-pain-tactic that had made Dean want to punch something), but it had seemed utterly irrelevant to Dean at the time. Their Dad didn’t fit in in the new apartment in Kansas. He didn’t even know what John would have had to say about the whole thing. 

Here, though, he could feel his absence. 

“Anything good?” Dean asks, stepping over to where Sam’s sprawled out on the sofa watching some reality TV show, possibly about veganism if the douche bag rattling on about vegan brownies is anything to go by. Sam makes a noise which Dean takes to me ‘no’, but doesn’t move from his position on the sofa. “You know, Sammy, you grow any more you won’t fit on a Sofa.” 

“Be taller than you, though,” Sam returns, “Have my whole life to get back at you for calling me short.” 

“You got any minutes?” 

“Huh?” 

“Minutes, Sam, on your cell.” 

“Yeah,” Sam says, turning to raise an eyebrow in his direction. 

“So, pass it over, Sasquatch.” 

“You used all yours up?” Sam asks, puling himself into a vertical position to give Dean a look which clearly asks for more of an explanation than Dean particularly wants to give, because even he’s slightly aware that calling someone this much is kind of weird, all things considered. Dean sends him a look. “It’s in my bag. So… how is Cas?” 

“Fine,” 

“That’s what you got from a months’ worth of minutes?” Sam says, “That he’s fine?” 

“Yep,” 

“We gotta head back tomorrow?” 

“Yep,” Dean says, chest tightening slightly. They managed to get to the coast, at any rate, and Dean hasn’t had so many days in a row off work since the shitty period after John died, which he spent fixing up the Impala and then smashing her again to vent his frustrations. That doesn’t really count as a holiday, though, so it’s probably the first he’s had in a decade. 

He’s almost glad that he’s been forced to cut back on his hours, because the idea of his old life makes him tired. The thought of shift juggling and pushing himself to the limit only to just barely scrape by makes him want to sit back on the hard motel bed and give up. Except, things are slowly getting better. They’ve managed to go on an actual honest to god vacation (if a somewhat unconventional one), they have an okay-ish apartment, Sam has a car now and his college fund is beginning increase again. It’s not for nothing. 

Somehow, they’re building something here. 

“Good vacation?” Dean asks, even though he knows it’s a needy request of self-assurance. Sometimes you’re allowed those. 

“The best,” Sam says, except god damn it all the kid actually means it, because Sam is actually really easily pleased if you know how to do it right. And Sam has forgiven their father for everything and is honest to god moving on with his life, and that’s a frigging miracle if ever there was one. He doesn’t have a damn clue how Sam could have come out of this okay, but he’s done it. 

Dean wants to express how much he appreciates Sam being a good kid in all of this. Maybe he sticks his nose in and pushes a bit too much, but compared to almost every other sixteen year old in the United States he’s a god damn saint. If he’d had Sam rebelling, or drinking, or flunking school like Dean knows he would have done (and did, really), then there’s not a chance in hell he’d have been able to keep his shit together. He doesn’t have the words and the sentiment gets lodged in his throat before it can make it out into the open, but he’ll tell Sam one day; maybe when he’s less jaded or has gotten to a point where can talk about this stuff without it feeling like a confrontation, but one day he’ll tell Sam how much he appreciates all of it. 

“Want me to wrangle another day?” 

Pamela had tried to talk him into another day off anyway and had insisted that if he changed his mind he could just call her. He hadn’t considered actually doing it but… this, right here, is good. Instead of waiting for the other shoe to drop like he usually does, or else over assess to the point where he can’t see the good anymore, he wants to cling on to it. It’s new. 

“Really?” Sam asks, beaming. 

“I’ll talk to Pam,” Dean returns, spinning the phone round in his hand and offering his brother an actual smile. 

“Sure, Dean, just don’t act like that you spent all your minutes on Pamela,” Sam says, looking smug as he turns back to the TV. Dean’s pretty sure that he’ll fall asleep there and Dean’s not sure if he can lug his ever-growing-ass into bed anymore, but he can probably think of some creative ways to wake him up. “What’s the deal with Cas, anyway?” Sam asks. 

Dean’s gut twists. 

“There’s no deal.” 

“ _Really,_ ” 

“Really.” 

“Cas is a nice guy,” Sam says, in that perfectly innocent way that implies a lot more. He’d be worried that maybe his freak out about kissing Cas (and, oh yeah, he hasn’t dealt with that yet) was more visible than he’d necessarily intended, but it’s not all that surprising he’s been trying to read something in all the phone calls and messages they’ve been exchanging. Plus it’s Sam, and the guy’s half perceptive and half just really eager that Dean has friends and a life and shit. 

“Nice,” Dean repeats, “Not what I’d have gone for.” 

“What would you have gone for then?” Sam asks, moving enough to meet his eyes. 

“Bad ass nerd,” Dean says, “And Sam, if you turn Vegan… you’re homeless.” 

“Whatever, Jerk.” 

“Bitch,” Dean grins. He lets his hand linger on Sam’s shoulder for a minute before he steps outside to talk to Pamela, and then Cas. It’s another thing he wants to cling onto… these easy exchanges with Sam, a stark contrast to the nagging and the arguing that’s been hanging around the apartment lately. 

* 

He’d expected to feel growingly subdued on the drive back home, but it doesn’t quite pan out like that. Sam lets him choose the music all day without complaint and even joins in with a couple of the classics, all the whilst shooting good memories at him to see whether he still remembers. He’s not sure whether Sam had taken it upon himself to convince Dean that there were things that Sam remembered, and that were good, but either way it’s working. He’s feeling good despite himself, and with every mile they inch forward he’s beginning to realise that he misses Ellen and Bobby and the others. 

“Remember the last time you went on Vacation,” Sam says, when they’re so close to home that Dean can almost smell it. 

“No,” Dean says, glancing at Sam in his mirror. He’s actually surprised about the number of things that Sam remembers that he’d just plain forgot about, but he just keeps churning them out during lulls between songs. A Christmas exchange of gas station presents was squeezed in between Led Zepplin songs, and talk of the number of times they’ve seen the largest ball of twine is broached whilst Dean’s filling up the Impala. 

“You went on your own,” Sam says, “Five states in five days, remember?” 

That had been an experiment in forcing his brother and his father to get along which hadn’t been particularly successful, given he’d come back to find Sam giving their Dad the silent treatment and Dad having packed up all their stuff and ready to move again… but, it hadn’t exactly been a surprise either. 

“Didn’t make it that far,” Dean says, “Spent three days hauled up in this girl’s apartment in Indiana. Studying to be a Yoga teacher. Lisa Braden. Bendiest weekend of my life.” Sam coughs. “Come on, Sam, it was like the first time I didn’t have to share a room with you since I turned eighteen.” 

“So you sacked off your road trip to get a leg over?” 

“Wasn’t like that. Totally classy. Still haver her number and everything.” 

“So call her,” Sam says, looking strangely determined for such a weird request. It doesn’t really seem to fit and Dean catches his brother’s eyes for a little too long, considering he’s supposed to be driving and everything; he still can’t quite work out what his brother’s trying to gain, here. 

“Huh?” 

“Call her,” Sam says. 

“Why?” 

“You haven’t seen anyone for a while,” Sam says, fingers casually spread out over the dashboard. 

“You were there when we were dissecting my schedule, right?” Dean says. He’s not going to go and mention the other obstacle to his sex life (love life?), that he’s sole guardian for a sixteen year old and there’s not many people round his age who are gonna wanna deal with that kind of baggage, because that’s sure to jump start another one of Sam’s guilt-binges. Between the jobs, Sam and college he’d barely be able to catch a break for a quickie, let alone a frigging relationship. Plus, Sam doesn’t need to deal with Dean’s disaster relationships happening in the peripheries of their apartment. “And she’s at least a couple of states away.” 

“So someone closer to home, then,” Sam says, the corners of his lips beginning to twitch. 

Dean has a sneaking suspicion he knows where Sam is going with this and he really does not like it. 

“Sam,” Dean warns, turning into the car parking lot and stopping the car a little more suddenly than he necessarily intended. He never treats his baby that rough, so the jolt of them coming to a stop is all the more pronounced. It punctuates the moment in a way that makes it impossible for them to just brush past it, which means now Dean is stuck having this conversation. And he doesn’t like it. “Where are you going with this?” 

“Where do you think I’m going with this?” 

“Quit being a smart ass, Sam,” Dean snaps, turning to face his brother face on. 

“Look, Dean, if you think I’m meaning someone in particular that’s not my fault. I was just talking… generally.” Dean huffs and rolls his eyes to the ceiling, because his brother is the actual worst. His shoulders are tensing and he’s suddenly very conscious of keeping his hand still. Sam has him in a trap and he’s not sure that he can talk his way out of it. 

“ _Is there someone? _”__

 _ _There’s not a chance in hell that Sam is getting a Christmas present this year.__

 _ _

“Conversation not happening,” Dean says, pushing his way out of the car. He’s been managing fairly well not to think about this Cas-Impala-incident so far (although the memory seems to repeat on him during late night conversations with Cas, only whilst before it made him feel nervous and on edge it’s done a full 180 and now it makes him feel oddly relaxed), but having Sam challenge him about this is a little bit close to home. 

He’d like to know what exactly Sam thinks is going on with him and Cas, just in case it enlightens him in some way because hell if he knows. All he knows is apparently his whole body had been behind getting as close to Cas as physically possible, even if his brain seems to be on a delay about what that actually means. At the same time, though, he’s almost completely certain that he’s not ready to deal with it yet. It can probably wait. 

“You know I wouldn’t –” 

“– yeah, I know,” Dean grates out, “But we’re not talking about this,” 

“Okay, Dean,” Sam agrees, grabbing one of the duffle bags out the back of the car and digging in his pocket through his key. It’s almost more annoying that Sam just drops it and starts heading back to the apartment, but then he’s had such a good time these past couple of days makes it more difficult to really care. He can’t quite shake the uncomfortable itch of Sam being a perceptive little shit, like he always has been, but it’s muted by the comfort that, bizarrely, seems to now be associated with their apartment. 

Dean had been dead certain he’d have to peal himself off the road and back into his new life, but he almost wants to throw himself back to his life with Ellen and Jo and Bobby, just a little bit, and maybe there’s an exhalation of relief that he can come back to their apartment. 

He frigging misses Cas, though, he’s certainly beginning to realise that. 

* 

The words ‘can I have a couple of friends over?’ should not have the capacity to completely hollow Dean out. 

Problem is, last time Sam had a friend round he was twelve. Dean had tried to outright ban the whole thing, knowing that the whole thing was sure to end in disaster, but John Winchester had been trying to win rare brownie points and let him. Dean wound up the bad guy which was a pretty rare situation, at least until the kid (Dean made a point to forget his name as soon as possible) asked a few pointed questions about their lodgings and their mother, concluding in a god awful moment when said kid’s mother realised she was picking her child up from a motel and freaked out. 

Sam got teased for being a skint orphan (not even true at the time, but it stuck) for the rest of his time at the school. It was the first time he’d ever been up for moving on when the day finally came, and Sam hasn’t asked to have a friend over since. 

Until yesterday, when Sam had gotten back from his shift at Pamela’s and asked the question. 

He knows that Sam must have done the I’m-a-skint-orphan-thing (accurate this time) with his friends at some point, but he still feels strange meeting them. 

“Sure none of you need babysitters?” Dean asks, hovering in the doorway. This petite brunette Ava has set up shop on the corner of Dean’s sofa, whilst a guy he’s pretty sure’s called Andy Gallagher clogs up the floor in front of the sofa. The excitable Becky is busy helping Sam dishing out the cans of soda, whilst Max Miller is hovering in the no man’s land between the kitchen and the TV. He got brief introductions that vaguely correlate to names he knows he’s heard, but really they’re a bunch of strange teenagers in his front room. 

“We’ll be fine, Mr Winchester,” Ava says, just because Dean had visibly winced at being referred to as the name previously, which had made Sam laugh out right. 

“Yeah, well,” Dean says, “You break the apartment and I’ll sue for damages, Miss Wilson.” 

“We’ll be fine, Dean,” Sam says, voice coaxing and relaxed. He never gets to see Sam like this, with kids of his own age, and it’s… interesting. Very different to how Sam had acted with his peers back when Dean had picked him up from middle school, which obviously makes sense. Back then, Sam had been the weird, awkward kid…. Whilst now, Sam’s kinda cool (at least, in a nerdy, smart kid kind of way). Sixteen year olds and old enough not to judge someone for having a shitty place and a brother for a guardian, and it’s…. it’s good. 

“And if you drink my alcohol, don’t go topping it up with water,” Dean says, which makes Ava’s smile stretch wider and causes Max Miller to take a visible step back. “There’s money on the side if you need pizza or something. I’ll be back around three, Sammy, by when you should be asleep.” 

He shuts the door with a firm click, discomfort settling in his stomach alongside the giddy feeling that he associates with Sam feeling comfortable enough in let the two parts of his lives bleed together. Two years ago, Sam wouldn’t have let him meet his friends, but… 

It increases during the ride to the Roadhouse. He kinda feels like his insides are marinating in it, right up to the point where all the other things he was feeling before are muted in comparison. By the time he gets to the Roadhouse he’s feeling downright shitty, and of course Ellen notices the look on his face immediately. 

“What’s up, kid?” 

“You know Jo’s friends from high school?” Dean asks, hands spread out flat against the bar. 

“Couple of em,” Ellen says. 

“Know ‘em well?” 

“Yeah, I’d say so,” Ellen says, evenly, “Keep in contact. With them and their mothers.” 

“I met some of Sam’s friends for the first time tonight,” Dean says, his insides twisting around the room into something akin to nausea, but slightly more bitter. “I don’t know a damn thing about them and I sure as hell don’t know their mothers. Been working my ass off for years and for what? So I can miss Sam’s whole life while I’m juggling three jobs?” 

“Dean,” Ellen sighs, voice low and coaxing, but it doesn’t help. It just makes his skin prickle slightly. 

“Whatever,” Dean says, pulling on his apron and brushing past her. He doesn’t want to talk about this, because there’s nothing anyone can say to make him feel better about it. He’s missed whole chunks of Sam’s life and it fucking sucks. 

* 

On some level, Dean knows that this isn’t exactly his fault. 

There’s only a handful of choices he could have made differently over the past couple of years, because ninety percent of the time he’s had his hands tied. Whilst he’d always say he choose to drop out of high school, the reality is the need to get some more income had meant staying was damn near impossible (other than committing himself to something more illegal than usual, but even back then he had an inkling that it wouldn’t be wise to get caught up with something like that, for Sammy’s sake; maybe even then he knew there was a possibility that he’d wind up acting guardian someday, if not for the reasons he might have thought). 

It just sucks that he’s been working so hard for Sam, and as a result has missed so many things he wanted to be a part of…. Because Sam’s right. He’s not Sam’s brother, hasn’t really had a chance to be for years, he’s just his meal ticket. He gets the guardian card, too, but Sam’s too old and independent to need much parenting; sure, once he used to change his diapers and help him with his homework, but he doesn’t even get that anymore. Recently, he’s been at work so much that he just about has time to put food on the table and tell him to do his homework (as if Sam would ever not do his homework) before he’s back out the door. 

And he’s going to continue being Sam’s piggy bank right up until he’s done with Stanford, and Dean’s current plan dictates that after that he’s supposed to run off and enlist (not that he’s going to be bringing that up again anytime soon… his face still kinda stings if he thinks about that too long)… and maybe he can’t do that, because that means he misses the whole of Sam’s life. This whole thing has been for Sam, so he’s not selling out before he gets to see Sam happy. 

He can’t follow Sam to Stanford, though. 

Dean presses his fingers to his forehead and tries to press the thoughts out of his head, because he knows full well this isn’t going to help anything. This is another of those unfixable things that don’t get better the longer you think about it, but it’s also a damn persistent thought. 

He’s taken up residence on the sofa with a beer even though he’s just got back from the Roadhouse and he should be in bed. Sam, or maybe one of Sam’s friends, cleared up after themselves and none of them drank any of his whiskey (which he knows, thanks to the glass he had as soon as he got in), so it’s almost like they were never here. 

And, more to the point, Dean still doesn’t know a damn a thing about Sam’s friends. He only got a glimpse of them before he had to head out to work. He wants to know Sam’s friends favourite subjects, and who’s the clown of the group, and whether any of them have ever been in trouble, and which one he has to be wary of supplying his brother with drugs. He wants to know the kind of people Sam likes to hang out with and if any of those are at all like him, or if he still wants to dissociate himself socially from anyone that reminded him of himself or his father. He wants to know who Sam has a crush on and tease him about it. Instead, he gets this half glimpse of Sam whilst he’s killing himself over putting food on the table. 

It just sucks. 

Dean’s phone buzzes again and the movement to remove it from his pocket makes him realise that, actually, he must have crossed over the line to drunk at some point. He hadn’t really meant to get drunk because, for one, he’s such a pro at drinking these days (or not so much lately) that it’s damn expensive, but also because it’s one of those self-indulgent things that usually winds up with Dean pissing people off by screwing people over. He feels like Sam is beginning to trust him and it’d be a damn shame to throw that down the drain thanks to a bad day. 

He glances down at his phone as he sets down his beer. The text is from Cas, obviously, because they’ve been messaging each other back and forth like a couple of teenage girls; the last four he read were this stupid conversation about some burger Cas ordered at Bigersons, the kinda thing that’s not worth mentioning, but they’d wound up having a detailed conversation about their favourite fast food place and, worst part about it, Dean had spent the whole time smiling over it. 

He hasn’t read the past three, though, because he can’t right now. He can’t exchange inane texts with Cas about frigging burgers when he doesn’t know a damn thing about Sam’s life. If he barely has room for Sam then he can’t make room for Cas too, especially when Sam is pushing at the whole cluster fuck that is his relationship with Cas… Sam won’t leave it alone, course he won’t, and it’s not fair to Cas. He’s dragging this out when it can only wind up one way, because…. Because he has Sam and responsibilities and three jobs and, anyway, he doesn’t even know what this mystical thing he knows he’s not allowed to have _is_ and it’s just… 

He drops his phone back on the sofa, latest message unread, and takes another swig of beer instead, chasing the residual taste of whiskey away. 

The time he did have to learn who Sam was he spent with Cas, and he’s not sure he can forgive himself for that. He doesn’t know how to deal with the fact that he wishes he was with Cas right frigging now, instead of working a slightly better job than he used to have and slightly less shifts so he can continue barely seeing his brother. He’s not supposed to want things and he’s certainly not supposed to wants things that don’t directly involve Sam, and the only reason he can even _think_ about this is the whisky numbing his thoughts and making honesty that little less difficult. 

Somehow his priorities have gotten all messed up. 

He’s been spending time with Benny punching things, and on the phone to Cas, and before that… hanging out with Cas, and fixing up cars at Bobby’s even when it doesn’t bring in any money and it’s all backwards, because Sam is supposed to be his priority. And he barely gets Sam. 

Dean turns his phone off and doesn’t get another beer. 

* 

He’s been feeling pretty lacklustre for the past couple of days. 

He knows it’s not helping anything, because whilst he’s fake smiling for shifts and fake flirting for tips, then coming home and frowning at the TV for hours on ends, it’s not like he’s getting to know Sam or his friends any better. He’s taken to shooting Sam questions about what he’s been doing all day, who he’s been with and whether he had fun… but Sam seems to be interpreting it as though Dean doesn’t trust him, not that he just wants to know his brother again. 

His insomnia has crept back, so he’s barely been managing to fit in four hours of sleep in, even with his newly rearrange shifts… and he’s wallowing in the loneliness that comes with being the only person still awake at 4am, but he hasn’t done anything stupid and there’s comfort in that. 

It’s the fact that he feels like someone’s scrapped out his insides with a blunt instruments and the crushing feeling of being completely alone that probably drives him to _finally_ pick up the phone, even when he’s been ignoring Cas for the past four days (not that he’s heard from him much, anyway, seems like Cas got the message pretty quick and stopped bothering to try and talk to him, which didn’t make himself feel any better if he’s honest about it). 

“Dean,” Cas rasps down the phone and, shit, Dean’s missed that voice and double shit, Cas is drunk. Drunker than Dean’s ever heard him, which is saying something considering Dean’s actively tried to get the guy drunk on a number of occasions. He has some weird tolerance for the stuff that Dean’s never quite managed to break, even though he’s sure that he will one day. It’s just his luck that the first day he decides to pick up the god damn phone, Cas is drunk out of his mind. 

Doesn’t make him feel any better, that’s for sure. 

“Hey, buddy,” Dean manages, even though the words kind of make him feel like his chest is cracking open. Cas sounds utterly broken and he’s hundreds of miles away and Dean can’t do a damn thing. “Where’ve you been?” 

“On a bender,” Cas says. 

“Yeah, getting that,” Dean shoots back, turning over in his bed and pressing his phone close to his ear. “What happened?” 

“I found Joshua,” Cas says. Dean remembers Cas mentioning something about Joshua at various times over his mission to find his father, or whatever. As far as Dean can work out, Joshua used to be their gardener but, bizarrely, was also his Father’s best friend and confidant; he’d been side tracked by the fact that Cas had a frigging gardener at the time, but he’d just about twigged that Cas had a lot of hope pinned to this guy. “I think I’m going to be sick.” 

“Where are you, Cas?” Dean asks, chest aching. He can hear the muted sounds of cars in the background and he doesn’t really like the idea of Cas drunk and lost somewhere in America, too far out of reach for Dean to pick him up. “You near your motel?” 

“He knows where my Father is, Dean,” Cas says, “he’s alive.” 

“That’s great, Cas,” 

“He knows I’ve been searching for him,” Cas says, “He knows everything. He doesn’t care, Dean. He wants me to stop trying.” 

Dean had chalked the guy up as being an asshole from the off, but Cas delivering that line still manages to break his fucking heart. And whilst he’s been feeling sorry for himself about missing bits of Sam’s life, Cas has been frigging crushed by his bastard father. His head hurts from trying to overthink everything, but mostly right now he just misses Cas. 

“Cas…” 

“How do you manage it?” 

“Not really the guy to ask on that one, Cas,” Dean mutters, “Look, buddy, you near your motel?” 

“Yes,” 

“Stay on the line,” Dean says, “Talk to me.” 

“What’s honourable about a mini bar, Dean?” Cas asks. He doesn’t really have a damn clue what the guy is on about, and its weird hearing Cas’ voice with a lisp and the odd, jittered disorder of Cas’ words. The background of cars has dulled though, so Dean’s gonna go ahead and assume that Cas has made it back to his motel. His shoulder’s loosens slightly with relief. 

“Everything,” Dean says, “You back in? You’ll feel better tomorrow if you’re sick now.” 

“How are you, Dean?” Cas asks, as a door shuts down his end. 

“Let’s just concentrate on you, big guy,” Dean says, because he’s still feeling too guilty about ignoring Cas in favour of feeling sorry for himself. He’s not sure whether it’s worse than the guilt of not knowing his brother’s friends, but together it seems like a good excuse to drink himself to Cas’ level. He holds the phone away from his ear whilst Cas throws up and presses his fingers against his forehead, willing himself to not do anything stupid. 

Goddamn, he wishes he was there. It’s not like he’s gonna be holding the guy’s hair back, but he could get him some water and some Tylenol and treat him to a hangover breakfast in the morning. He’s got plenty of experience with drinking himself stupid and being let down by father’s, so he knows how Cas has gotta be feeling right now. He wants to be more than just a voice on the other end of the line. 

“You done?” Dean asks, “Get yourself some water and some Tylenol.” 

“Okay, Dean,” Cas says, and his voice sounds so trusting that Dean has to blink. He’s never really been anyone’s drunk dial before, and he’s certainly never had anyone put faith in him like Cas is right now. 

“Get yourself another glass of the water for the morning,” Dean says, “And put the Tylenol next to your bed, too. Then go to sleep, Cas.” 

“Okay, Dean,” Cas says, and his voice has dropped impossibly deeper and, yeah, Cas’ voice has always had a semi-profound effect on him, but Cas like this is… another level. It’s actually kinda ridiculous. It’s like home and being hollowed out and emptiness all at once, because he should be there and he’s not. Dean blinks. 

“Then come home,” Dean breathes, even though he swore way back when that he wouldn’t beg Cas to come back, wouldn’t ask him to stay again, and the past few days he’s half talked himself into pulling away and concentrating on Sam again. 

Except this feels right, too, and he’s been trying so damn hard to push for things that make the tightness in his chest loosen slightly… half for Sam and half because there’s a part of him that actually wants to be happy, maybe. It’s a difficult one to dissect. 

“Okay,” Cas says, and if that doesn’t feel like frigging Christmas then he doesn’t know what does.

__


	23. Chapter 23

Thanks to Dean’s A+ stupidity, he has approximately a week to work out what the hell is going on him and Cas.

Sure, he’s a fan of late night emotional begging as much as the next guy, but now he’s not only got to contend with the fact that he stayed on the line to Cas until the guy fell asleep (which, yeah, he’ll deny until his death bed), and the uncomfortable knowledge that he said asked for Cas to come home… now, he has to face the consequences. 

Cas is on his way home. 

Dean’s been taking the coward’s way out and not mentioned anything to do with Dean asking him to come home, and ignoring phone calls in lieu of texts because it’s easier to control the direction of the conversation with a text message. He’s given up pushing Cas away, though, and the panic over what to do about Cas has given him the jump start to get out of his rut, making way for sporadic bursts of uncharacteristic nervousness and very characteristic bursts of wallowing and avoiding talking to Sam about what’s bothering him. He’s not feeling as shitty as he had done, though, even if his brains still tied up in knots about what the right thing to do is. 

“What’s up, boss man?” Charlie asks whilst she’s waiting for him to finish off the shift rota. She has this habit of getting him to open up and she’s been looking at him like she wants to make him talk all week, but this is the first time Sam’s been absent. Dean may have planned it that way, but there’s no one there to prove it. He could use a second opinion on all this. One that isn’t attached to a member of his family because, yeah, he loves his family and everything… but he doesn’t need them knowing everything that’s going on in his head, and they’re too close to everything to offer a real opinion. 

“Cas is coming home,” Dean says, swallowing. He’s been wanting Cas to come home from the second he left, but it was easier to deal with Cas when he was far enough away that he knew where he stood. In phone conversations it was easy to ignore the whole… well, whatever it was that had led to them making out in the classroom, because he only had Cas’ voice to contend with rather than Cas’ everything. 

Charlie is grinning at him like he’s just pulled out his rainbow flag and started waving it, and he’s not even sure whether that’s where he’s going with this, but at least it saves dragging the whole thing out in explicit detail. It figures given Charlie referred to him as ‘dreamy’ based upon the description Dean gave her; she’d probably seen it coming way before Dean did. Not that that’s all that surprising, really, given how preoccupied he’s been with his own personal demons or whatever. 

“Uhuh,” Charlie says, “When?” 

“He’s picked up a car,” Dean says, “Driving back, but the guy takes like six pit stops a day. Be at least a week till he hits the state.” 

“That why you’ve been working out?” Charlie asks, offering a wink. Sparring with Benny has kinda been a distraction rather than anything else, and then he took up running with the hope that it might help him sleep (it has, a bit, at least better than Tequila ever did), so objectively he’s probably in better shape than Charlie’s ever seen him, but his form would still be enough to disgrace John Winchester if he could see him now. At least he’s managed to talk Sam into running with him the past few mornings, and Sam even mentioned something about starting up a running club and how it would look good on his college applications, which was pretty revolutionary considering Sam hasn’t mentioned the C word to him (in relations to his own leaving for college, at any rate, the kid had plenty to say about Dean’s college attendance) since before Dad died. 

He can’t say that Cas returning has born any relation to him working out, though, but it does mean that Charlie explicitly thinks _the thing_ with him and Cas is _a thing_ of some sorts. 

“What makes you think it’s like that?” Dean asks, under the pretence of swapping round a couple more of the shifts. 

“Dude,” Charlie says, “The eye sex. The sexual tension. I felt like I was intruding being in the same building.” 

“Huh,” 

“I shipped it _hard_ right until he punched you in the face. Not cool. What was with that, anyway?” Charlie asks. 

“I don’t have a damn clue what I’m doing, Charlie,” Dean exhales, in part because it’s slightly easier than answering the question about the punching incident (and Jesus Christ he’d almost forgotten about that), but in part because it’s the truth he’s been holding in since they made out in the back of the impala. This is foreign territory beyond the basic fact that Dean hasn’t really done the dude thing before (and does he do it now? Is this like a new development or has he just been ignoring it? He’s kinda been pushing that series of question to one side in order to focus on the Cas-specifics, but…. Yeah, probably needs to think about that at some point). Dean sure as hell doesn’t get involved with people he needs… and he needs Cas. He really god damn needs Cas. “This is way beyond my pay grade.” 

“How do you guys leave things off?” Charlie asks. “Made up?” 

“Could say that,” Dean says, gaze directed back at the rota. He’s definitely finished it now and he’s been looking so long the words don’t make sense, but it’s the most preferable option available to him at current. 

“You tap that, Winchester?” 

“What? No,” Dean says, glancing up and frowning at her. He actually doesn’t know what would have happened if Cas’ alarm hadn’t gone off for his flight, but he likes to think he wouldn’t have screwed his best friend without working a few things out of his own first. He probably would have done, though. 

“But something happened,” Charlie says, triumphant, “Called it.” 

“Thought you didn’t _ship it_ anymore.” 

“I like the angst,” Charlie shrugs, “So… what’s the plan?” 

“Hell if I know,” Dean sighs, hand automatically going to the back of his neck. Charlie doesn’t tease him about it, or even mention it, and resolutely doesn’t bring up the fact that Cas is a guy, and that Dean hadn’t really expressed any interest in those before. He’s not sure if it’s because she’s making a point about not bringing it up, or if it just genuinely doesn’t surprise her, but he’s frigging grateful. 

She gives him a salute on the way out and wishes him luck on his mission, so he swaps the shift schedule so she gets Friday evening off to say thank you. 

* 

It’s four days since he begged Cas to come home, and Dean’s sat in the Roadhouse playing Texas Holdem with his family. Ellen allowed him to take advantage of his earlier shift finish, and the Roadhouse is nearly dead, so Jo migrated from the bar to sit at their table. Sam’s sat opposite him (he’d asked if any of his friend’s parents would be cool with joining them for poker, and Sam was honest enough to say that they probably wouldn’t be, but he’d made an effort), and even Bobby made the drive over. 

“Three pairs,” Sam says, laying down his cards with a grin. Dean already folded (because, yeah, he’s ballsy but he’s not plain stupid), but Jo’s looking even more self-satisfied that Sam, so watching the car crash in action is all kinds of hilarious. 

“Three of a kind,” Jo grins, and Sam’s grin dies on his face. Dean’s still laughing when he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket, and frowns as Cas’ name shows up on the screen. They haven’t really talked on the phone since Cas’ drunk dial, as if they both crossed some weird boundary and now they’re taking a step back, but…. 

“You mind if I get this?” Dean asks, because the last time Cas called he was drunk and upset. If that’s the case again, then Dean doesn’t just want to leave the guy hanging. 

“What’s up?” 

“There are a couple copulating loudly next door,” Cas complains, and Dean can just imagine his unimpressed expression and the exact tilt of his lips. He smiles without really meaning to, standing up away from the poker game and migrating towards the bar. 

“That your angel boyfriend, Dean?” Jo asks. Dean flips her off and Jo laughs. He rolls his eyes and takes another step towards the door in order to escape their eavesdropping. He’s not sure when the gay jokes got old, but it was definitely long before tonight, especially when they might be a little bit true. And, yes, he knows moving away to have this conversation in private isn’t exactly helping matters, but conversations with Cas feel kinda sacred these days. 

“Copulating?” 

“ _Loudly.”_

“Just turn the TV up,” Dean says, leaning back against the bar and letting the inane nature of the conversation wash over him. He’s pushed back another potential break down in regards to Sam’s friends, and he’s feeling good again. He didn’t think it would be that easy, honestly, but he feels like can breathe again. And Cas is coming home. 

“There is nothing I want to watch.” 

“I don’t know, man, just watch some porn or something.” 

“Dean,” 

“Come on, it’s natural. Everyone watches porn. _Sam_ watches porn.” 

“That’s not information I particularly needed.” 

“No, me neither,” Dean grins, “perks of close living quarters, I guess.” 

“What are you doing?” Cas asks, and the jump from porn to _what are you doing?_ in Cas’ voice takes him a second to process, which means that Dean is probably a hundred percent screwed, as far as Cas is concerned. 

“I’m at the roadhouse,” Dean says, glancing back to his family. They’ve dealt another round without him, but he doesn’t care all that much. Within a week, Cas might be playing poker with them again (although, given what happened last time, it might be a bit of a sore point). 

“Working?” 

“Nah, clocked off few hours back,” Dean says, “And you’re obviously having a wild night… you been to a bar since you left Kansas? Other than your bender?” 

“Yes,” 

“Riigght. Switch over to channel 67 and it’s not porn, I promise.” 

“Dr Sexy?” Cas questions. 

“Hells yes. Don’t tell Sammy, but I love this show,” 

“Everyone knows you love Dr Sexy, Dean,” Castiel says, and there’s something about the way that he forms the words ‘Dr Sexy’ which completely throws him for a minute. It takes him about thirty seconds to remember that he’s at the Roadhouse with his family, and he probably shouldn’t stay on the phone to Cas for a whole episode of Dr Sexy like he wants to… even if it’s just in part to hear Cas continue to say ‘Dr Sexy’ like that. 

“When you get back, we’re watching it back to back together.” 

There’s no way that that’s ending well, given that Dean’s pretty sure he just discovered a new Cas-talking-about-Dr-Sexy-kink, but rather than being terrified of the prospect… he’s just not. Somehow, he’s making progress with this. He thinks if Cas continues talking like he does and just being Cas, then he can definitely get behind it. 

“I fail to see the appeal,” 

“You won’t when I’ve finished with you,” Dean says, then he realises how that could be potentially dirty and, whoops, he wasn’t supposed to be going there. Maybe. He can’t actually remember whether he came to a conclusion about it all yet. He resists the urge to tell Cas it’s eighty percent Dr Sexy’s cowboy boots, because that conversation borders the conversation about the sexuality crisis that he’s totally pretending he’s not having and, besides, he knows full well that Jo’s eavesdropping. 

“Anyway,” Dean says, “There’s a guy who looks like he’s after a drink, and the others are mid round… Sorry, dude, you’re going to have to deal with the loud sex on your own.” 

“It’s very grating.” 

“Beauty of motels,” Dean grins, “I’ll tell the other’s you say hi.” 

“Goodbye, Dean.” 

The customer pisses him off not only because he’s interrupted his phone call with Cas, but also because he insists on asking weird questions about the Roadhouse and its staff, keeping Dean at the bar for two whole drinks, whilst the others are enjoying the poker match he organised. He starts calling him ‘Deano’, introduces himself as Gabe without being asked and, when he eventually disappears, he leaves three empty chocolate wrappers on the side of the bar for no god damn reason. 

* 

Dean has come to the conclusion that he might have a crush on his best friend, who’s due back in town in the next couple of days, and he’s beginning to think that he might be okay with it. 

Cas probably thinks he’s an asshole thanks to the whole thing when Dean kissed him out of the blue and never mentioned it again, but then things were pretty screwy in the days before Cas left. He’s almost entirely sure Cas will be game for just putting the whole thing behind them and never mentioning any of it again, because things have changed. 

He’s changed, probably. 

He’d hazard that he’s not quite as much as a car crash as he used to be, even though he can still list a hundred or so ways in which he’s messed up. Hopefully, though, this time he can quit taking advantage of Cas’ bizarre dedication to him and just… be there for him back whilst he deals with the crap with his father. 

And maybe Sam seems to know that there’s something going on (at least on Dean’s end, hell if he knows what’s going on in Cas’ head), but Charlie thinks it’s reciprocal and, anyway, as long as Cas is back in his life properly he’s sure he can deal. 

It’s okay. For once, things are actually okay. 

“You know,” Dean says, pouring the girl who’s been sat in Pam’s diner almost as long as he has (and his shift is dragging today, it really is, because he knows that Cas is itching ever closer to home) another cup of coffee, “if he’s more than an hour late, he’s probably not worth it.” 

“Thanks for the tip,” She says, smiling slightly. 

“Well, hey,” Dean says, “tipping works both ways.” 

“I’m actually looking for someone,” She says, “I’ve heard he often spends time here.” 

“Give me a description and your number, and I’ll give you a call if I spot him,” Dean grins, offering her a wink before turning around, fully intending to head back to the kitchen. The diner is quiet today and he’s been ready to go home for about three hours, even though there’s still another hour till it closes. He’s been falling back on the time old tradition of flirting to pass the time since he was seventeen, but he enjoys it more when he’s in a good mood like this; he feels almost as good as he did in the last few days of his vacation with Sam, which is a frigging miracle considering he’s _here_. 

“Do you get a break?” The girl asks, glancing down at his name badge before shifting her gaze back at him, “Dean.” 

Thing is, Dean’s not exactly trying to achieve anything, here. Sure, the red head is pretty hot, and he’s bored as fuck, but… He’s so not interested that it kind of scares him a bit. He stopped bothering to strike out and get laid after the disaster with the bank robbery (except that night a week or so after Cas left, which might have been a reactionary thing in retrospect), but that was because he had no energy and no time and no desire to do anything for himself. This is a different kind of not interested that casts a pretty different slant on this so called crush he probably has on Cas (not confirmed as of yet, but highly likely), and that’s a different ball game all together. 

“You know what,” Dean says, even though he kind of hates himself for it, “I think I do,” 

He’s bored and not continuing to flirt with this girl, just a bit, would probably be a violation of his character. Nothing’s gonna happen and, besides, the other girl on this graveyard shift owes him like six favours and it’s about time he starts cashing in. 

“Anna,” The girl supplies, smiling at him. 

“Anna,” Dean says, pulling up the seat opposite. “So, this guy you’re looking for, he an asshole?” 

“No,” Anna smiles, pushing a lock of red hair out of her eyes, “I’m the asshole. I don’t think he wants to see me.” 

“Hence the diner stake out,” Dean says, “right.” 

“He’s my brother.” 

“Ah,” Dean grins, “Yeah, I got one of those.” 

“You get on well with your brother, Dean?” Anna asks. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “I mean, it’s complicated cause I’m his guardian too, but we don’t do bad.” 

“That must be hard,” Anna says, blue eyes narrowing in curiosity. He’s not sure what it is, but she kind of looks like she has more of an idea that most do about that sort of thing which might be why he said slightly more than necessary. 

“It has its moments,” Dean agrees, “Sure as hell didn’t need the crash course in dealing with teenagers, but you gotta do what you gotta do. Even if it means staking out diners all day.” 

“Yes,” Anna smiles, “I think I’m going to need another coffee,” 

“Coming right up,” Dean grins, standing up and fetching her another. 

* 

“Hey, Anna,” Dean says, “I gotta close up in five.” 

Anna stands up and pulls on her jacket. 

“I’ll probably see you here tomorrow,” Anna smiles, although the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. He’s staked out diners to get Sam to talk to him before, so he knows how _that_ feels although, he’s gotta say, it’s not really the best tactic. The front door opens, which means Dean’s gotta tell some customer it’s too late to order anything, but he’s pretty sure it can wait for a couple of seconds. 

“I’ll look forward to it,” Dean says, even though it’s not really true. 

“You get a lunch break?” Anna asks. He’s about to say that he does, but he’s gotta hang out with his brother or wait for his best friend from returning from this road trip, or some excuse delivered in such a way that it’s clearly a well meant rejection, but then Anna’s soft smile completely transforms into an expression of abject horror and relief. He’s about got to the fact that it’s probably the brother, who’s also probably the new customer when he turns round and balks because _Cas_ is in the doorway. And he looks pissed. 

“Castiel,” Anna says, taking an unconscious step towards him. 

His first thought is that, in line with his previous suspicions, he can now go ahead and conclude that he _definitely_ has a thing for his best friend, because everything from the hard lines of Cas’ shoulders to his frigging trench coat is going straight to his dick. The second is that he’s pretty sure he was just flirting with Cas’ long lost sister, in front of Cas, when the last time he’d seen the guy they made out in his car. The third one is a swear word. 

So, yeah, he’s probably fucked this one up. 

“Anna,” Cas says, his voice tight. Dean’s pretty impressed that Anna doesn’t run away, because if he had Cas directing that level of fury at him, he’d probably cave. 

“It’s good to see you,” Anna says, tentatively, as she takes another step forward. 

Cas doesn’t move. 

“Give me a minute, Dean,” Castiel says, not moving his gaze from Anna. Cas is shaking slightly. 

“Cas, I gotta close up.” 

_“Dean.”_ Cas demands and, yeah, Cas is seriously pissed at him and just waiting till he’s talked to Anna before he lets him know about it. It’s not like Dean really blames him, either, so he nods and goes to stand outside the diner so he can’t hear. 

He hasn’t seen Anna for over three years, they’ve probably got a lot to talk about. 

Outside, he lights up a cigarette. He hasn’t had one in an age, but then he also hasn’t fucked up this bad for a long time. He’s got the sister bombshell and the gay-crush-on-Cas (which, honestly, runs a lot deeper than he’s allowing himself to think about) thing to deal with. Plus, Cas is _really_ angry and if there’s another person he hates letting down half as much as he hates letting Sam down, it’s gotta be Cas. 

The cigarette makes him feel a little better and a little worse. Him smoking is bending as opposed to breaking, but it’s still a failure of sorts. 

Anna throws open the door to the diner less than two minutes. She’s crying and she doesn’t stop to talk to him. 

Dean’s not even gonna pretend he isn’t shit scared of Cas right now – a thrilling kind of scared that has him rooted to the spot outside, even though he knows he should go back inside. He _wants_ to go back inside. 

Dean drops his half smoked cigarette and stamps it out, pushing open the doorway of the diner. 

“I _thought_ you gave up smoking,” 

“So, you did well with Anna then,” Dean says. 

“I think you were doing better.” 

“Cas,” Dean exhales, stepping further into the diner. He’d already turned most of the lights off before starting to kick Anna out, and Cas looks even more dramatic and imposing in the half gloom. It doesn’t help that Dean knows that Cas can do serious damage to him if he’s angry enough and it especially doesn’t help that, mostly, he wants to smash their mouths together again. It’s probably not context appropriate, though. “I didn’t know.” Cas is silent and angry and hot. “When d’you get home? You parked outside? I wanna see your new wheels.” 

“I was tired so I got a cab here. You said you were working the late shift today.” 

He did. All that amounts to, really, is that Cas had probably been only back ten minutes, had gotten a cab to the diner to _see him_ to find him pulling the moves on his frigging long last sister (at least that’s what it must have looked like)…which, _really,_ isn’t his fault, because it’s not like there’s any way he could have known Anna was _that_ Anna – he’s never seen a picture of her and they don’t look all that similar – but it’s still all kinds of fucked up. 

“Well, hey, I’ll give you a lift back,” Dean says. His hands feel awkward at his sides and he has absolutely no idea where he’s going with this. “We’ll have a beer, or something.” 

“I’ll walk.” 

“Cas,” Dean complains, “Come on, man, it’s not like I… she started it, I just…” By the look on Cas’ face, that comment wasn’t particularly helpful to his cause. Shit. 

“I haven’t seen her for three years, Dean.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “I know and if you’d quit being a little bitch, we could talk about the fact that you just sent her running. Cas, I’ve been waiting for you to come back all summer.” 

“Yes,” Castiel spits, “that must have been tiresome.” 

“I dunno _what_ your frigging problem is, here –” 

“– my problem, _Dean,_ is that I can’t leave you alone for _five minutes_ before you’ve found something to hit on.” 

“And I may be wrong, here, but that’s not your business,” Dean half yells, even though that’s totally not what he means. What he _means_ is that if he knew Cas took such exception to that, he’s completely on board with _making_ it Cas’ business, because he’s beginning to twig onto the fact that Cas is unduly angry for the situation. 

And he’s _pretty_ sure it’s jealousy. There’s a chance it’s just wishful thinking, but he knows Cas and he knows there’s been something weighty and important in their staring contests for just about forever. That’s nothing new, really. 

“You’re right,” Cas says, receding into himself, “I apologise.” 

“No,” Dean says, “fuck your apology. I didn’t mean that, okay? I… god damn, how the hell was I supposed to know she was your sister?” 

“It’s fine,” Cas says, reaching out and touching his arm. Except, the touch is clinical and distant, as if he was taught the movement at some point… Cas is still tense and angry and possibly jealous, now he’s just trying to hide it. 

“It’s not,” Dean says, “if it was fine, you’d been having this out with her right now, not _me._ ” 

“I will take that lift home, if you’re still offering it.” 

“Cas,” Dean breathes, “Cas, you gotta let me fix this.” 

“Dean, it’s _not broken.”_

“Okay,” Dean says, “fine.” 

He drives him home in silence. When they reach Cas’ apartment building, Cas neither offers to show him his car or invites him up for a beer. Dean’s goodbye is an assurance that Cas will be over in the next few days to collect his belongings from Dean’s apartment, and Dean is _amazed_ at how much it feels like they just broke up, even though they weren’t freaking together in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Er...sorry? I'll fix it. Promise.


	24. Chapter 24

“Cas is back,” Dean tells Sam as he dumps the takeaway on the table. Sam’s been hanging out with Ava today, and her boyfriend kinda doesn’t like it, but they’re just friends so Ava told him to shove it, which he knows because he took Sam out for breakfast after their morning run and asked him about it. Sam’s still acting kinda cagey when Dean asks, but that’s probably because Dean hasn’t quite pulled himself out of the habit of just firing questions at him and memorising the answers, so he could pass a pop quiz, should one happen to come up (‘can you stop it, Dean, it’s creepy’). Still, he’s beginning to feel a bit better about the whole thing. 

“Why aren’t you over there braiding his hair?” Sam asks, looking up, “Or get him to come over. It’s been a while.” 

“Funny,” Dean mutters, “Eat up, sasquatch. I ordered something with vegetables in special.” 

“It can’t have been that bad,” Sam says, hovering at the edge of the table, “You’re not bleeding this time.” 

“Probably only cause I gave him the don’t hit people lecture last time,” Dean says, rolling back his shoulders in frustration. He’s not going to have another cigarette, but only because they’re expensive and because his increase in smoking has had a marked effect on his fitness levels, which he’s trying to fix and all, and nothing to do with the fact that he’s trying not to self-destruct again. Nothing whatsoever. 

“Huh,” Sam says, “What happened?” 

A whole fat load of bad timing, basically. 

“You know Cas’ family is a mess, right?” Dean asks, “Well, his sister turned up at the diner a couple of hours before he did. She ran off and ditched the family cult over three years ago, hasn’t seen her since.” 

“So he’s with her now?” Sam asks. 

“No,” Dean grimaces, “she left crying about ten minutes after Cas got there.” Sam raises an eyebrow. “We were… talking right before Cas arrived. Didn’t know she was _that_ Anna, obviously, and –” 

“Dean,” Sam says, “Dean, you _didn’t.”_

“How the fuck was I supposed to know?” Dean grumbles. “It’s not she wore a fucking name tag. And I didn’t know Cas was gonna be back, either, and I sure as hell wasn’t expecting him to just show up at Pam’s. If he’d walked in a minute later he’d have heard me turning her down, but I doubt that would have helped.” 

“And now he’s pissed?” 

“Oh yeah,” Dean grimaces, “but, don’t worry Sam, I’m gonna fix this.” 

“Dean, you know –” 

“– Sam, I promise you,” Dean says, “I’m leaving him a few days to cool down, then I’m gonna sort this out. He knows it’s not my fault, okay.” 

Sam looks dubious and also a little like he wants to say something Dean already knows, even though he probably doesn’t realise Dean is aware of it. 

But, it’s okay. 

This _is_ a pretty major setback and a lot messed up, but he still comes out of the whole situation knowing where they are; he’s definitely maybe got a thing for Cas (and probably has had for a while, because the only thing new here is his awareness of the issue) and Cas was pissed because he thought he was hitting on someone else, namely his sister…. He was jealous and knowing that is kind of eclipsing his irritation at Cas yelling at him for something so dumb, because they’re actually kind of on the same page. As soon as Cas has pulled his head out of his ass and realised that yelling was dumb and unfair, they might actually be able to fix this. 

He’s got this covered. 

Probably. 

* 

The frustration of the situation with Cas (because, as of his plan, he’s not talking to Cas right now until he cools down and apologises) and the running combined is enough that, the morning after his run in with Cas, Dean wins a fight against Benny for the first time. It’s mostly just luck and Dean being well placed to channel his aggression, but it’s a marked event enough that Benny offers to buy him lunch to celebrate… technically, he should be heading back to the apartment, but Sam’s at work and Benny’s offering to pay, and it’s not like he’ll be spending the day with Cas like he thought he would, so he winds up agreeing by accident. 

They wind up exchanging the usual small talk for a few minutes, with Benny talking about Andrea and him talking about Sam, but then they order and it gets back to the fight that Dean won, and suddenly Benny is asking about his feelings. “That fight came from somewhere,” Benny says, levelling with his gaze, “What’s eating you, brother?” 

Dean meets his gaze and doesn’t say anything. 

“Got a lot of respect for you, Dean, figure we could talk about it, if you want.” Dean’s shot people down for less subtle methods of getting him to talk, but he actually kind of likes Benny. He gets where the guys coming from a lot of the time and, up until now, he’s never pushed his boundaries. And maybe Dean’s not an expert on these sorts of things, but he’s beginning to think that maybe they’re actually friends. And he’s sure that Sam’s going to be tearing himself up over not approving of Benny and actually wanting Dean to have a life, and Dean’s almost looking forward to it. 

Benny seems to take his lack of response for what it is, consent of sorts, and pushes a little further. “You look after your brother?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Had an accident nearly a year back. Car did a total 180 and our Dad didn’t make it, so it’s just the two of us. But Sam’s great.” 

“So, something else, then. Woman trouble?” 

“A guy, actually,” Dean says, although he hasn’t got a damn clue why. He figures he’s just sort of testing the words out, because if he’s serious about this Cas thing (which he might be, probably, maybe), it’s not like he can just not mention it to anyone. He’s not that much of an asshole. 

“Uhuh,” Benny says, and that’s that, he officially just came out. He doesn’t feel like topping himself and Benny doesn’t really seem to give a crap, so it’s almost like it’s not a big deal. It was virtually frigging painless. Technically, he guesses he also suggested as much to Charlie, but not with an outright comment like that and… well, Charlie’s out and proud and see’s the gay in everyone, and Benny’s an ex-criminal who could take down half the people in a bar if he had to, so it’s kinda different. 

“But it’s complicated,” Dean continues, because it’s better than just stopping at that point. He’d rather move swiftly on than acknowledge the fact that that was a big thing, sort of. “I got Sam to think about. He’s my responsibility, y’ know?” 

“You got something good with this guy, Dean?” 

“It’s something,” Dean says, which is probably the first time Dean’s ever managed to vocalise something that concrete out loud. He’s sure Benny must be able to read some of the hesitancy in his features, but he doesn’t make any comment about it. “But me and Sam are just finding our feet,” Dean continues, “and, I dunno, man. Bad timing. Plus the guy has issues. I mean, I’ve got issues, but… I dunno. We’ve sort of being arguing for a while, and it’s damned annoying.” 

“Well, you need somewhere to channel that, you got my number,” Benny says, “Shame to waste it. That was a beautiful punch,” 

“Why you helping me out, Benny?” Dean asks, “Free gym access and shit. You got some agenda, here?” 

“Nah, Dean,” Benny grins, “You don’t have a damn thing I want. I’m just not a good fit. Not with the gritty criminal classes and, for sure, not with the law abiding plenty. I don’t belong. Starts to wear on you…. And you, well, I’m thinking maybe you understand that a bit.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Perks of leaving the job. But you’ve got Andrea.” 

“Tell you the truth, Dean,” Benny says, “I’m not so sure I do.” 

The conversation follows Dean around all day to the point where he decides he’ll invite Benny to the Roadhouse at some point, maybe for the next poker match, because Benny’s hardened edges and not quite innocence would probably be a good fit there. 

* 

He gets the message from Cas two days later, a cursory _I think I overreacted_. 

He returns with _You think?_

_I know_ And then, _why is this so difficult?_

Dean closes his eyes at that, because he doesn’t have a damn clue. If he can’t even manage a friendship with Cas right now (which they seem to be utterly failing to do whenever they’re in the same state, which is messed up), then he doesn’t really have the grounds for pushing for more, even if they’re both on the same page with that. 

Alternatively, they could scrap the whole friendship thing and, what, _date?_ Dean’s pretty sure he’s never actually dated in his life, and he can’t really see him and Cas going to the movies or out for dinner. Do adults even do that, or is that some weird phenomena of teen dating constructs? It sounds awkward. 

“Is that Cas?” Sam asks from across the apartment, where he’s cooking dinner. Sam’s actually kinda getting into the whole cooking business, getting better at it too, and it’s something Dean’s pretty okay with. At least until school gets back up, when Sam’s sure as shit giving up the job and the housework. “You guys talking again?” 

“He’s trying to apologise,” Dean says, “And he’s crap at it.” 

“For you hitting on his sister?” Sam asks, eyebrow raising. 

“For losing his shit,” Dean corrects, “And kinda calling me a whore.” 

“Cas said that?” 

“In that ball park,” Dean says, frowning at his phone. Objectively, he knows that Cas didn’t really mean it. He’s pretty sure that he’d be knocked for six if he walked into his long lost sibling (one who he had a bunch of leaving issues with in the first place) talking to someone he was really into (which, yeah, he’s beginning to suspect Cas is). Especially if that person was a guy who he thought he was straight… although, come on, Dean frigging made out with him before which he’s pretty sure means he’s not ruler straight, even without the rest. Add in Cas’ recent Dad troubles, and yeah, it’s not exactly surprising that the guy freaked and lashed out, it’s just… 

_Is it_ supposed to be this difficult? 

“He kinda has a point,” 

The words kind of reverberate around the room and then Dean’s head. Sam’s tone is kinda light hearted, like he’s agreeing with someone who said that Dean often leaves the toilet lid up, or leaves the washing up overnight, except instead he’s agreeing that Dean sleeps around. And he fucking doesn’t. 

For one, he doesn’t have the frigging time to sleep around. He’s been too down on himself to actually think about his sex drive for _months_ and before that he was in some twisted, dumb thing with Bella (which yeah, mistake, but not exactly sleeping around). 

Sam’s got this dumb idea that Dean’s some frigging slut and, hey, maybe Cas actually believes that too, even though Dean hasn’t mentioned sleeping with someone _ever_ since he’s known the guy. It doesn’t matter that Dean spends most nights working till early hours, because one time Dean had a night off and had a one night stand. 

“No, Sam, he doesn’t,” Dean snaps back, setting his phone down and looking up at his brother. “I work for tips, Sam, not for some paycheque that cuts just above minimum wage. If I didn’t flirt, we’d be homeless,” Dean rarely lays into Sam like this (half because he’s too scared of Sam being taken off him, and half because Sam doesn’t usually deserve it) and the widening of his brother’s eyes is almost satisfying. “And maybe I messed around a bit when I was a teenager, but I didn’t have friends. I didn’t have time to date. I just had you and Dad at each other’s throats every damn day and a bunch of bullshit employers just trying to make a profit out of me. I screwed a couple of girls over, sure, but only because the world screwed me first. At least _someone_ was interested in me.” 

“Dean,” 

“No,” Dean interjects, “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to think that. I’m not Dad. I’m not gonna boss you around and make you call me sir, but you show me some frigging _respect._ You have a problem with how I act, you tell me and we talk about it like adults.” He wants to keep yelling but he’s probably said it all and, more, he needs some space to take a breather; throwing more harsh words at his little brother isn’t going to fix the way his brother views him, it’s just gonna make him angrier about it. “I’m taking a walk.” 

Sam’s utterly silent whilst Dean reaches for his jacket. He’s glad, because he’s not really sure he wants to talk to Sam right now. 

He pauses at the doorway, though, and turns to face his little brother. Sam looks slack jawed and guilty, but Dean’s not prepared to start feeling bad about it. He’s not being unfucking reasonable. Sam can get at him about drinking too much and starting bar fights, but not for this. Dean’s a fuck up in many aspects, but this isn’t actually one of them. 

“I can take CPS and the whole damn world thinking I’m some kind of trash,” Dean says, “But I can’t take that from you.” 

He walks for a few blocks until his thoughts have lost some of their heat, before turning back to his phone. He forgot Sam had the power to break him like that and he certainly forgot he had the ability to feel righteous anger about his own honour. Generally, he just rolls with whatever crap people want to think about him but… yeah, not from Sam. 

Dean pauses at a bench and takes a seat. At times like this, it’s difficult to remember that Sam is still just a snot nosed teenager with literally no experience of the real world, and that the only people Sam’s really ever known are him and their Dad. Ellen, Bobby and Jo flittered in and out of their lives, sure, but he’s the only person Sam’s had regular contact with forever. Sam learnt about people through Dean Winchester, books and TV shows… and, yeah, if Dean had such a low opinion of bits of himself, then it figures that Sam would pick up on parts of that. He probably got some of it from Dad. Saw characters a bit like him on TV. His younger self probably wanted to perpetuate that kinda image, because at least that was easy, but he’s not actually _that much_ of an asshole. 

He’d like to talk to Ellen about it, but he’s half scared that Ellen would just agree with Sam. Maybe that’s just what everyone thinks about him. He glances down at his phone instead, remembering with a jolt how the whole damn argument started; Cas apologising. Right. 

The next message reads _I’m sorry_ and simple and uncomplicated as it is, Cas probably spent whole minutes typing it out and thinking about it. 

Already, the text has been ignored for a good fifteen minutes and, honestly, he didn’t mean to leave the guy hanging. This whole thing is making his head hurt. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says the second Cas has picked up the phone, stretching back on the bench and closing his eyes. He doesn’t know why any of this has to be so complicated or difficult, but apparently navigating through these waters isn’t as easy as he’d thought. It doesn’t help he doesn’t know what water he’s even on, or what to label it as, or whether he’s swimming or drowning. 

“Hello, Dean,” 

“It’s difficult because we’re both such fuck ups,” Dean says, straight off the bat, “I’m Dean interrupted and you’re half way down the rabbit hole. We’re shit at stowing our baggage and take it out on each other because we know we’ll take it.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I just yelled at Sam,” Dean says, “Last time I yelled at a member of my family my Dad crashed the impala.” 

“Where are you?” Cas asks and, god damn it, Dean tells him. 

* 

Cas turns up at the park bench twenty minutes later and sits down next to him without so much as his customary ‘hello Dean’. He’s had another twenty minutes to get his breathing straight and to calm down a little bit more, reminding himself that families yell at each other all the time and that’s it’s not that big of a deal, as much as it feels like it is, but Cas in his trench coat and his stupid half done up tie is enough to make his throat close up again. 

“Hey,” Dean manages, nudging Cas with his shoulder in an attempt to express that he’s not mad, he’s really not, but that once again the right words are failing him. “You okay, man?” 

“No,” Cas returns, hands folded, gaze fixed on the sky, “I thought I’d got this. I don’t got this.” 

Dean huffs a laughs despite himself because, damn, he’s missed having Cas’ flat sarcasm in the flesh, and it’s fucking incredible. Cas is probably the funniest guy he’s ever met, in that way of his. He speaks like he’s mocking the whole convention of speaking, and it’s… he frigging loves it. 

“Preaching to the choir, buddy,” Dean shoots back, turning to smile at him. Cas is still looking up at the sky, all baleful eyes and regrets. “Turns out Sam thinks I’m a slut. I’d die for that kid in a second, and it turns out he thinks the same as the rest of the world.” 

“Dean,” Cas says, “Sam looks up to you,” 

“Nah, he doesn’t,” Dean says, closing his eyes, “I’m his frigging anti-hero. He’s gonna run off to college and try and be as different from me as possible. He’ll spend most of the year pretending I don’t exist and then drop me a line round Christmas and his birthday. He’ll apologise about me before he introduces me to his girlfriends; just ignore Dean, we had a rough upbringing and now he’s an easy loser that can’t go five minutes without finding something to hit on –” 

“– Dean,” Cas interjects, “When I said that…” 

“I know, Cas,” Dean cuts him off, frowning, “You found out that you’re dad’s a class A dick like a week ago, and then you walk in at the worst frigging moment and come face to face with Anna, of all people. I get why you lost it,” Dean says. He’s not gonna mention the jealousy that he’s sure made up ninety percent of the problem, because now isn’t really the time to bring that up. “And I wasn’t… it wasn’t even like that, Cas, I’m not like that. You gotta believe me.” 

“I do,” 

“Well, good, at least someone has some kind of faith in me,” Dean exhales, “I’ve spent most of the past year too… too low to even _think_ about picking people up, so where the hell does Sam get this idea?” 

“Although a very mature one, Sam is still a teenager.” 

“Yeah,” 

“But you’re wrong, Dean, your brother is very proud of you. The first time I met him he spent twenty minutes telling me about how loyal and hardworking you are.” 

“Because the kid doesn’t think I can make friends on my own,” Dean says, “Although, yeah, he might have a point about that one.” 

“Are we friends again, Dean?” Cas asks, and it makes Dean feel like he’s deflated. He’d almost forgotten about that conversation they’d had what seems like a forever ago now, and he forgets that Cas is like completely hopeless at any kind of social relationships. Like, you don’t just ask that right in the middle of a conversation and, the worst part is, now he feels like he’s been making Cas jump through hoops to win back his friendship, or whatever. He looks like a kicked puppy, waiting for Dean’s judgement on their friendship on this stupid park bench and… yeah, he needs Cas. 

“Yeah, Cas, we’re friends,” Dean says, half smiling at the sky. 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Cas says, “but I detect a note of forgiveness in your tone.” 

“Yeah, well, maybe we both screwed up,” Dean says, because he’s been taking advantage of Cas from the off. He’s let him drive him around and teach him french and take on far too many of Dean’s problems, when the guy clearly has a bucket load of his own to deal with. And maybe Dean’s now just about functional, but Cas is a big part of that. “I’m game for turning over a new leaf and forgetting all about it if you are.” 

“How many leaves do we get?” 

“As many as you want,” Dean shrugs, “Let’s take a whole forest. We might need it.” 

“Dean, what I said –” 

“– I don’t care about what you said, Cas, I care about whether you’re dealing with this shit. You good? You get a chance to get Anna’s number or address or something before you ran her out the building?” The crumpling of Cas’ expression is enough to indicate that, no, Cas was taken by surprise and hurting and lashed out at anyone before he had the chance. It’s not ideal, honestly, and Dean kinda wishes he’d taken more of the brunt of it rather it being thrown at Anna, but that’s just how life tends to work. “Well, she seemed pretty determined when I was talking to her. She’d been staking out the place the whole day trying to sniff you out. You know how she knew where to look?” 

“I emailed Gabriel,” Cas says, looking down in his hands, “I can only assume they’re in contact with each other.” 

“He email back?” 

“No,” Cas frowns, “I was intoxicated when I wrote the email. I might have mentioned the diner. I don’t remember.” 

“Right,” Dean says, and more than anything he wants to take hold of Cas’ hand and give it a squeeze, because he’s lost brothers and he’s lost fathers and he knows how that feels, except he doesn’t because he’s never had a family member outright reject him like that. The only permanent losses he’s dealt with weren’t by choice and… that makes a difference. He settles for a nearly aborted, but not quite, motion to touch Cas’ knee, which he figures could almost fit in the boundaries of friendship if you made them loose enough, and works to draw Cas out of his staring competition with his hands and back up to him. “I’m sorry your Dad’s such a waste of space, Cas. He don’t deserve your time or effort, okay? We’ll sort the stuff with Anna and Gabriel. I’ve got your back.” 

The pad of Dean’s thumb runs over the bone of Cas’ knee without his permission, and he really wants to kiss the guy right now, but their new tentative forgiveness is too fresh to throw anything else at it. 

He feels oddly at peace, though, sat on a wooden bench a few blocks from home. 

He can’t know everything about Sam that he wants to, but then Sam’s not exactly perfect either. He’s sure as shit not happy with what Sam said, but he came out and said he wasn’t happy with it rather than sitting on it…. And that’s, well, it’s progress. Compared to the him of six months ago he’s now practically frigging functional; he doesn’t drink himself to sleep, except on really special occasions, and he’s practically a none-smoker now, and he’s found a more helpful way to vent his frustrations than starting bar fight. He has a few actual friendships and a slightly better a job, and he might even want to stay in college. And maybe the thing with Cas is still a mess, but then they’ve both been royally screwed by what life’s thrown at them. 

Cas was asking why it was so difficult, but it doesn’t seem difficult right this second… so maybe it’s the other stuff, pushing in, that’s the problem. Maybe they’ll be just fine. 

“How about we, as you would say, ‘stow our crap’ and grab a beer?” Cas says, and Dean can feel the smile pulling at the corner of his lips, and the urge to just reach out for a touch of some kind is increasing and, oh yeah, Dean’s hand is still there on Cas’ knee even if they’re both sort of pretending that it’s not. 

“As long as your new wheels are better than the last,” Dean says, “I’ll walk back if you’ve downgraded. I got a reputation to maintain.” 

Cas’ car is an improvement, but it’s only a couple of blocks and Dean wants to put off facing Sam for a bit longer, so they walk back instead. 

It turns out that it was unnecessary, because they arrive to an empty apartment and a note from Sam. It’s pretty basic telling him his dinner’s in the fridge and he’s staying at Andy’s tonight because he thought Dean might want some more space. It’s not an apology, but he can read the sorry between the lines, and he’s actually grateful it’s not there out right; Sam’s no doubt feeling sheepish, but he knows Dean well enough to know what he needs. And it’s not a couple of words that don’t mean anything, because it’s not like Sam can backtrack and say he didn’t mean it. He did. That’s the problem. 

The beer turns into three beers and a movie, and Dean trying to remember good reasons why he shouldn’t push for taking advantage of the fact that this is probably the last time he’ll have an empty apartment for a whole night for an age, alongside him beginning to realise just how utterly screwed he is when it comes to Cas every time Cas makes one of his odd, painfully unique observations about the film they’re watching. 

* 

“Dude,” Charlie says, “You need to make a move, stat. It’s perfect. You leave it too long and you’ll both be too scared of ruining your friendship and wussing out.” 

“So you’re saying,” Dean says, slowly, “that you think it’s a _good thing_ that we’ve been at each other’s throats for months? That’s dumb, Charlie.” 

“Bet you’ve been dying to get at his throat, am I right?” 

“Why am I taking to you about this?” 

“Just call me your fairy godmother. You shall go to the ball, Deanerella.” 

“I will hurt you,” Dean bites back, leaning against one of the empty tables of the dinner. There’s a couple of customers hanging around that are probably listening, but Dean’s made the executive decision that he doesn’t really care about them. It’s the graveyard shift, he’s been here for hours, and he might just have decided to make some actual life progress. 

“Love you?” Charlie says hopefully. 

“I know,” 

“Well,” Charlie says, “That’s our first problem. You can’t Han Solo Cas. Unless you were exaggerating about the pop culture references.” 

“Yeah, no,” Dean says, “the guys clueless. And anyway, that’s… that’s out,” He hopes his vague hand gesture expresses his discomfort at even the idea of pulling the moves via the medium of words. And, anyway, he’s not touching the L word with a Sam-sized barge poll. “No talking.” 

“No talking? Dean, I can’t work within these parameters.” 

“Pretty crappy Fairy Godmother.” 

“I left my wand at Hogwarts,” Charlie says, rolling her eyes, “So, first thing, does Cas still think you’re straight?” 

Dean frowns slightly. He’s still not entirely sure he’s gotten used to the concept that he’s not straight, or whatever, even though there’s a lot of evidence to the contrary and apparently he’s already done the coming out thing to a couple of friends, but… yeah, it’s still a weird concept, just because he’s never really thought about it before. He’s been too busy dealing with this other multitude of crap to sit back and asses his sexuality, or whatever, so he just sort of… assumed. And maybe ignored the stuff that pointed backwards. 

“I dunno,” Dean shrugs, “I, uh, kissed him right before he left, but we’ve sort of been pretending that never happened. But he should have worked out.” 

“He probably just thought you were clutching at straws trying to make him stay,” Charlie says, and before Dean can protest that he’s not that much of an asshole, and that Cas wouldn’t think he’d do that, “People are stupid when they like people, Dean, they’re scared of being hurt so they rationalise things differently. He’s probably not letting himself think it meant something, because he doesn’t want to get his hopes up and then be hurt. This is the problem with not talking,” Charlie says, emphasising her point by poking him in the shoulder, “Use your words, Dean.” 

“Since when are you such an expert on Cas,” 

“Not Cas, relationships,” Charlie says, “I read a lot.” 

“So this advice is based off fanfiction? Great,” Dean says, rolling his eyes at the ceiling, “Frigging perfect.” 

"It's probably half the reason he erupted after the Anna thing," Charlie says, "Because he thinks you kissed him to make you stay." 

"That's not my fault," Dean frowns, "That doesn't even make any sense." 

"Of course it doesn't make sense. It's like, love logic, completely backward." Dean's sure as shit not touching that comment. Or thinking about it too much. Or at all. “Did you tell Cas you wanted to forget about everything that happened?” Charlie asks, raising her eyebrows at him as she turns on the coffee machine. Dean pushes another empty cup towards her because, yeah, he could use some coffee for this conversation. 

“The arguments, yeah,” Dean says. 

“Did you say _the arguments_ or did you just say let’s just ignore everything that happened in the past few months, because…” 

“Ah, shit,” Dean sighs. “Okay, fine, you’re right. You know everything. Cas thinks I’m an asshole. Now what do I do, Charlie? Break it down for me. Simple instructions.” 

“You know you normally correct my strategy,” Charlie says, as she passes him his coffee. For once, he’s glad to be on the graveyard shift and even more grateful that he controls the rotas these days. Between the awkward sidestepping around a quiet and sheepish Sam and Cas randomly popping round to collect another load of his belongings (and then staying for a little bit longer every time), it’s been difficult to catch a moment to think. And he’s glad that he actually has someone to talk to about this, bizarre as it is. 

“Because you can’t place your archers for shit,” Dean shoots back, “But this isn’t frigging LARPing, this is Cas.” 

“Well,” Charlie says, “Let’s just concentrate on getting you two out of the starting blocks. I think I have a plan.” Charlie says, resting one of her hands on his shoulder, “Never fear, my young padawan, I will teach you the ways the way fanfiction has taught me, and you shall have your prince.” 

Dean rolls his eyes and takes another sip of his coffee, contemplating. 

“All right, Charlie, what have you got?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh. It seems like with every chapter someone else is being an idiot which I promise wasn't exactly on purpose they just... all happen to be idiots hahaha. Don't be too hard on Sam? He's really sorry and stuff.
> 
> I've basically nearly finished writing this (although there's a whole bunch of chapters to go, I just wrote the ending an age back), so there should continue to be faairrrllyyy quick updates up until the end.


	25. Chapter 25

Sam’s doing an excellent job of making himself scarce, to the point where Dean barely sees him for three days. He’s conspicuous in the text updates about where he is, probably mindful of how much Dean freaks when he doesn’t his whereabouts, so he’s in a strange limbo where he knows exactly where he is and what he’s doing, without once bumping into him (Sam’s been coming back in after Dean’s gone out to work and leaving before Dean gets up, so there different schedules are exaggerated to the point where they might as well be living in different time zones). Dean’s not entirely sure whether Sam’s doing the avoiding act for his sake or for himself anymore, but on Friday night he winds up at the Roadhouse early in order to purposefully run into his brother, who’d dropped by to see Ellen and try and convince Ash to give him more pool lessons (because he’s probably one of, like, five people who can beat his teenager brother at pool; the kids a genius, and he’s not saying that just because he taught him, either). 

It’s kind of amusing to see Sam realises he’s here and then start deciding what to do, but it also reminds him a little bit why he’s pissed in the first place. He winds up looking away and turning back to the bar, gut churning uncomfortable. Dean really hates shit like this. 

“Been seeing a lot of Sam, past few days,” Ellen says, raising an eyebrow as he passes him a beer, “Said you were fighting.” 

“Oh?” Dean says. Sam’s opted for finishing his game with Ash and glancing over at him a little too often, but there’s only half the balls left to pot and that’s not gonna take them long; he reckons Sam’s bought himself about three minutes before he has to come over and talk to him. 

“Also said what you were fighting about,” Ellen says and Dean’s half expecting for her to start laying into him about it. Cas had been on his side about the whole thing, but that might just be because Cas secretly (or not, really) wants to bone him, and he’s not sure he can count on his surrogate mother to support him yelling at Sam. Especially for something as inconsequential as a light insult, even if it made Dean feel Sam had shoved a knife in his gut. “Been chewing my ear off all afternoon bout how he doesn’t appreciate you properly. Kids got a point, but then teenagers aren’t cut out for appreciating their parents. Or their acting parents.” 

That, he’s not expecting. Dean runs the words round in his head and curls his fingers around his beer for the comfort, but doesn’t speak. Given that when he was sixteen he was already working to support him and Sam, he finds the idea of not appreciating a parental figure that had that covered pretty difficult to get his head round, but that’s just because he was unlucky. He knows full well the normal routine of the thing. Kids don’t appreciate the person putting the food on the table before they’ve got to do it themselves, and just because Sam is his incredible, smart as hell brother doesn’t mean he’s exempt from teenage ignorance. 

“Told him you’d been kicking yourself over not knowing his friends better last week,” Ellen says, and Dean meets his gaze. Bizarrely, not only has he actually got Ellen’s support, Ellen has stepped in to try and reinforce Dean’s point; it’s a bit of a dirty trick that probably made Sam feel awful, and he wishes Ellen hadn’t done it, but… damn. Ellen is actually with him on this. “He’s real sorry, Dean.” 

“I know,” Dean says, “Thanks, Ellen.” 

“Don’t sweat it, kid. I’ve done my time as unappreciated Mother. I know it’s frustrating. Forget you’re barely out of your teens yourself, Dean.” 

“I maintain I was never a teenager,” Dean shoots back, “I went straight from being a cute eleven year old to an ever cuter twenty one year old.” 

“And by that you mean you starting drinking when you were twelve?” Jo suggests, “And you were never cute, Winchester.” 

“Please, I’m adorable,” 

“Hey, Dean,” Sam says, and Dean turns around to find his brother right here, and the height change is still jarring, Sam’s growing up, and he’s pushing back the best part of his sheepish expression for Dean’s sake. It’s illogical given it’s only really been a couple of days, but he’s been missing Sam stupid. Arguing is actually a lot more trouble than it’s worth, even if he’s not sure he’s done being mad yet. 

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean says, “Pull up a seat. I’ve still got a minute till my shift, right Ellen?” 

“Take two,” Ellen says, “on the house.” 

“You okay?” Dean asks, because that’s the important question in all of this. Sam’s expression crumples slightly but he nods anyway and, sudden growth spurt aside, Sam suddenly looks very young. He rarely sees Sam like this. Mostly because whenever John Winchester had it out with Sam about something or other, it just riled Sam up and made him more irritated, so the whole thing usually wound with Sam angry and sulking, not guilty and brooding. He can’t say he likes the look on Sam, but it’s another wave of relief that Sam’s actually listened to him. “You can stop avoiding me, Sam, I’m not gonna start yelling again.” 

“Yeah, okay Dean,” Sam says, and he smiles again, “Is it okay if I have my friends over again tonight?” 

“Sure,” Dean returns, “They wanna come back?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Sam says, “Ava’s parents have a volume limit for the TV and Max’s parents have a three friend rule, I’m pretty sure they want to move in.” 

“If they wanna split the rent, that’s fine by me,” Dean says, “You don’t have to ask to have your friends over, Sammy.” 

“Becky’s parents require four days advance notice,” 

“So it turns out I’m kinda awesome, then?” Dean grins, “You wanna play real families, I can set up some sanctions for you. No chick flicks. No shitty movies. You listen to any of that top forties crap and you’re grounded.” Sam bitch faces at him. “Well, hey, there’s gotta be some perks of having your brother as your guardian.” Sam looks like he’s about to object and say something, but Dean’s kind of decided that he doesn’t want to hear any more of it. He’s pretty sure more lax rules about friends coming over is shitty compensation for two dead parents. “So their parents are all right about you guys being unsupervised, right? Should I be setting some kind of curfew?” 

“Dean, we’re sixteen.” 

“That means literally nothing to me,” Dean returns, “I stopped grounding you when you were like, nine. Was that too young? Should I be giving you the sex talk?” 

“Dean,” Sam complains, “You did that like eight times already.” 

“And I’ve yet to meet a girlfriend. Am I wasting my words here?” 

“Quit embarrassing your brother and put your butt to work, Dean,” Ellen says, but she’s smiling at him. He feels perceptibly lighter having talking to Sam, even though he’s still not completely okay what Sam said and apparently thinks, he’s at least feeling slightly better about it. Ellen thinks he had a right to have it out with him and he tends to look to Ellen when he’s seeking out advice on how to sham this parent thing, so her approval has made him feel infinitely more secure in his decision to stand up for himself. 

Plus, Sam’s friends like hanging out at their apartment. Maybe it’s only because Dean’s laid back and barely there, but it’s something. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Dean says, slipping off the bar stool and clapping a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sam.” 

“Can we talk about it then?” 

Honestly, Dean would rather not, but he gets that they probably should. Refusing to talk is like guaranteeing that he’ll have a sheepish Sam watching his step for the next week, which isn’t something he particularly wants to sign up for. The whole point of everything Dean does is for Sam to be happy and well adjusted, and he’s made his point now. Having Sam constantly on edge doesn’t make anyone any happier. 

“Yeah, okay Sammy,” Dean agrees, offering his brother a small smile before he slips behind the bar and back to work. 

* 

Ellen hadn’t quite finished adjusting the rota to account for Cas being back in business, so it winds up that they have surplus bar staff. Normally, he’d take the opportunity to be paid to hang out with Cas and Jo, but there’s this chance that Sam still has his friends over. Ellen, sweetheart that she is, seems to read Dean’s mind a couple of minutes after Cas shows up, and tells him that most parents probably expect their kids home by eleven, so Dean better make haste if he doesn’t want to miss the party. 

He makes a pretty standard comment about whether she’s sure Cas doesn’t need close up supervision (and if he winked at Cas at that point, well, it’s not against the law), given the guy’s still no doubt as hopeless at bartending ever, but winds up back on the road less than ten minutes after Cas shows up. It sucks that he’s not there to bear witness to Cas’ first shift back (because Cas being out of practice and having forgotten the few skills he had is gonna be nothing short of hilarious), but the opportunity to see Sam with his friends doesn’t come by often. 

He’ll call Cas tomorrow. He’s been meaning to, anyway, but his conversation with Charlie is still pressing at the back of his mind a little too readily. 

He gets in just as everyone is starting to head off (before eleven, but it figures that Sam’s friends are a bunch of geeks who go to bed early and read books or whatever), but he doesn’t mind too much and he still gets a chance to see Sam interacting with them all. Sam’s just popped out to walk Ava and Andy to their respective cars (Ava parked down the street and Sam’s a gentleman or something), which means he’s left alone with Becky Rosen. He’d figured on it being five minutes of awkward, but now he has Becky talking his ear off about her job at Walmart whilst she’s helping him clean up. She seems nice enough, if _the_ chattiest person he’s ever spoken to. 

“Anyway, it’s really cool that I finally had a chance to talk to you,” Becky says, and Dean feels his eyebrows raising slightly, “Sam talks about you all the time. He told us all about how you bought him up, and everything, and Sam’s such a _nice guy_ , you know?” 

“I’m aware,” 

“And you guys have such a great relationship! Like, my parents just don’t listen to me. Not ever. I tried to tell my Mum about these books that I really like, because there’s this convention that I _need_ to go to, and she just completely shut me down, you know? And this guy was being really mean to me at school, and my parents just didn’t get why I was upset. They just wrote it off as me being a teenager. Sam says he always talks to you about this kind of stuff and that you’re, like, his best friend. I don’t even _talk_ to my brother unless I’m forced to, so I think it’s really great that you’re so close. I know you guys were arguing. Sam was really cut up about it, have you made up?” 

It takes Dean at least ten seconds to catch up with the whole of Becky’s speech, and then he’s too floored by the whole thing to produce words. In his head, Sam told his friends the bare minimum to get by; he was anticipating that they knew that their parents were dead, his Dad recently and his Mom when he was baby, and this his brother had guardianship. He thought they’d probably know his name for ease of conversation and occasionally Sam might comment that Dean wasn’t around much, or whatever, because he was busy at work. He didn’t except his brother to be telling people than Dean was his best friend and it’s… it cuts right through to his chest far more than Sam’s comment about him being a bit of a slut ever could. 

“Sam’s _such_ a nice guy,” Becky continues, when Dean doesn’t immediately start talking, “And well done on the promotion! Hey, how do you juggle three jobs and college? I can’t even manage work and school, and I only work Saturdays cause my parents say I can’t have a car unless I pay for it myself. They say I don’t need one and then get really prissy whenever I ask for a lift. Anyway, you must be super smart. Sam’s super smart. Maybe you guys just got good genes?” 

“Hey, Becky,” Sam says, stepping over to their conversation looking visible embarrassed (he must have come back in whilst Becky was talking and probably heard most of what she was saying, if his expression is anything to go by), “Your Mum’s outside. She seemed kinda… impatient.” 

“Great,” Becky frowns, “Anyway, it was really nice to meet you Dean!” And then Dean has a sixteen year old girl throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him. She’s gone before he has a chance to react, stepping forward and practically lunging at Sam. Sam looks just as uncomfortable as Dean had felt, which is hilarious given how many times Becky mention that Sam is _such a nice guy_ in the past minute. Sam gets a longer hug, Dean is amused to note, and Sam pats her awkwardly on the back a few times before he’s released. 

“Becky,” Dean calls, whilst she’s busy grabbing her jacket and going in for another hug, “If it’s a problem for your Mom, next time Sam or I will give you a lift home, okay?” 

“Thank you!” Becky all but squeals, “Sam, you are _so_ lucky.” 

“You need Sam to walk you downstairs?” 

“No, no, thanks Dean! See you soon, Sam!” 

“Wow,” Dean says, a couple of seconds after their apartment door clicks shut. He runs his tongue over his teeth as he tries to work out how, exactly, he’s supposed to react to the last five minutes of his life. He kind of thinks that Becky must often leave silence in her wake, because he’s utterly dumbstruck and has no idea what to do with her. 

“She’s really nice,” Sam says, helplessly, “She just…” 

“Has a massive raging crush on you?” 

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. 

“Sam,” Dean says, heart pounding somewhere nearer to his mouth than usual. He’s got the kitchen counter behind him for support, but right now he’s not sure it’s gonna be enough. “What she said…is that true, Sam? I’m your best friend?” 

“You’ll always be my best friend,” Sam says, and he’s back to looking so young and pathetic that it’s breaking his fucking heart. And, fuck, he didn’t know how much he’s been aching to hear that for years and years, but his ears are rushing and he wants to freeze this moment and live in it because, god damn, he’s his stupid kid brother’s best friend. 

And Sam’s, like, the most amazing sixteen year old ever, and he’s his best friend. Sam’s smart and resilient and strong and a pain in in the frigging ass, and Dean Winchester is his best friend. 

Not just because Sam doesn’t know anyone else, either, because Sam has these great friends his own age and… 

“Get over here,” Dean says, gruff and low, and then he has an armful of Sam like he hasn’t in years. Sam might be getting closer to six foot every day, but he still smells the same as he always did. Dean’s midway through flashbacks of Sam as a toddler, and carrying him out the fire, and Sam having a nightmares and making Dean sleep in his bed, and Sam’s first day of school, and Sam yelling and running away, and Sam at their Dad’s funeral and the first time Sam laughed after their Dad’s funeral and then them, just a couple of weeks ago, driving across America again just for the hell of it. And right now, this second, Sam has his gangly arms wrapped round his back and Dean pulls him even tighter because, fuck. 

Dean feels like he has a knife lodged in his throat and he shuts his eyes just to stop the repetitive blinking, because he’s not going to frigging cry. Hell will freeze over before Dean cries about this. 

“I don’t think your trash, Dean,” Sam’s says into his shoulder, “I could never think that. You’re the most… Dean, you’re the best brother and I, lately I’ve just been –” 

“– it’s been a really crappy year,” Dean says, trying to catch his breath through the thick weight of the emotions hanging in their kitchen, but the air is still sharp and painful in this throat as he swallows. 

“It’s not been all bad,” Sam says, “Dean…I’m so proud of you.” 

“Sammy,” Dean grates out, “Shut up. If you cry, I’ll hit you.” 

Sam laughs against his shoulder, only it comes out more like a sob. That should really be the cue for Dean to let go but he doesn’t because he can’t actually remember why they don’t do this, the hugging, all the time. 

“You’re not allowed to hit me,” Sam says, “It’s against the law.” 

“Fine, you’re grounded,” Dean says, only he’s still trying to dislodge whatever it is that stuck in his throat and whatever it is which is making it so necessary to blink, so his voice comes out shaky. He’s not entirely sure he wants to let go of his brother yet. “And you have to chauffeur Becky around for the next fortnight.” 

“Shut up,” Sam says, finally pulling away. “I’m never going to get rid of her now.” 

Dean outright laughs at that, and it feels amazing. His heart’s still dealing with the moment that just happened and his hands are kind of shaking slightly, but he think this might be the happiest he’s felt in frigging years. If he’s honest to god Sam’s best friend, then he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about any of it. The world can burn and it’s okay. It wouldn’t matter. 

Maybe that’s unhealthy, but… god damn it all, he doesn’t care. 

“Hey Sam,” Dean says, smiling, “You’re not so bad, either.” 

“You’re not so bad?” Sam repeats, “That’s what I get? Way to kill the moment, Dean.” 

“You want a sonnet, go read some Shakespeare,” Dean says, but his hand closes over Sam’s shoulder and he squeezes, tight. “We circumvented tomorrow’s talk, then?” 

“Yeah,” 

“And don’t think I’m holding back on teasing you about Becky just because we had a broment.” 

“A broment?” 

“Charlie talk,” Dean says, “Wanna watch a film? Your choice. Anything you want. Even titanic.” 

Sam beams at him and they wind up squeezed on their ratty old sofa together watching some dumb action comedy with bad jokes and stupid fight scenes, but nothing feels difficult or complicated. The exhaustion he’s felt bone deep for months dissipated at some point, and he’s beginning to realise that he’s had a headache for months and just never realised. Right now, everything feels easier than he ever thought it could. 

He’d forgotten what it actually felt like to be content and, somewhere along the line, he’d stopped believing he had the capacity to. 

* 

He and Charlie had come to the conclusion that the only kind of picking up Dean is comfortable with or has any experience with is the ever classic bar pick up. In all the mess of his (largely very distant) sexual history, it’s basically been the same story in a slightly different town, which for reasons unbeknownst to him Charlie found vaguely disappointing (“come on, Dean, you’ve had an adventure life. Is it too much to ask that you have the sex life to match? How can I live vicariously through you this way? Cas better spice you up a bit”). There’s also the diner flirting, course, but that’s a special kind of tip maximising flirting that doesn’t go anywhere. Generally, it doesn’t do your job security any favours to start sleeping with the customers, particularly regulars, and the money was always more important. 

After the graveyard shift, a relocation to a bar and several tequila shots Dean pretty much regretted the next day, Charlie had come up with her master plan. It wasn’t as elaborate as what he was expecting, but it also had a fair chance of actually working. Take Cas to a bar, pull the patented Winchester moves (Charlie’s words), and then take him home. Although, as this was Charlie and Charlie was apparently even more ridiculous when drunk, her exact words were “you need to be in your natural habitat, Dean, or you will spook like the closeted gazelle you are” and “then you must consummate your blossoming relationship with your trench coat clad nerd, and ride your unicorn to your happy ending” and, right about then, Dean had cut Charlie off from the Tequila and dragged her ass home. 

Still, the plan involved alcohol and minimal talking about he’s feelings, so Dean was behind it a hundred percent. Or at least he had been until the moment he was actually living it, because apparently trying to start something up with your best friend was genuinely terrifying. 

Getting Cas to a bar had proved a lot more difficult than previously anticipated, given Cas had been several shades of confused about why Dean actually wanted to go out. In the end, he’d said he wanted to celebrate Cas coming back, which had wound up with him being faced with one of those lopsided expressions and ‘I was always coming back, Dean’ which, yeah, was a bit heavy for the tone he was aiming for tonight…. Eventually, he’d snapped at him and Cas had agreed, and now they’re sat in a bar that isn’t as great as the Roadhouse, drinking their third beers in not quite silence. 

At least they were, until Cas disappeared to go to the bathroom, giving Dean a chance to pull out his phone and type out a text to Charlie. 

_At bar. Now what?_

_Double dosage of the Dean charm!!_ He gets back, almost instantly. _I’d say hold eye contact, but you don’t look anywhere else anyways_

That doesn’t actually help much, and the beers are making him feel edgy rather than relaxed, and Cas has sent him one of those soul searching looks three times already, which means Cas knows something is up and just hasn’t worked it out yet. Short of just coming out and saying ‘I’m hoping this is the foreplay before we screw at your apartment’ he’s not really sure how to convey the message to Cas that is sort of a date, at least by some definition. 

Dean frowns at his phone and sends off another text. 

_Ha ha_

Cas is making his way back from the men’s room, pausing at the bar for another couple of beers. He has his trench coat on indoors and Dean doesn’t have a damn clue why that’s endearing, because it’s too warm for a coat inside at the back end of the summer, and it makes him stick out of the bar like a sore thumb, but it’s still somehow making him smile. 

_Try something subtle?_

_Cas ain’t exactly a subtle kind of guy_

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, setting down another two beers on their table and sliding into the booth opposite him. He should have picked a seat that lent itself to more body contact, because words are difficult to grapple with most of the time, but touch is much easier. 

“Hey yourself,” Dean throws back, glancing down at his phone before hastily trying to cover up the text from Charlie, which begins _tell him you want to take him by his badly done tie and drag him to the nearest available surface…_ and which probably ends in a more successful way than it looks like this night will, but also which he’s not going to read the rest of when Cas is sitting right there. “After this, we should watch a movie.” 

In retrospect, the bar thing isn’t really working all that well. There’s enough background noise that it’s half difficult to talk, which works when both parties are under the agreement that they don’t really give a crap what the other person is saying, but not so much when you’re trying to work out how to get your best friend to sleep with you. The alcohol is a good idea, though, that he’s behind. 

“I thought you wanted to go to a bar,” 

“Well, check,” Dean says, nodding pointedly at the bar. Cas frowns at him like he makes absolutely no sense, and the small rearrangement of Cas’ feature has Dean fighting back a fully blown smile, because Cas is awesome. “And now I wanna watch a film. We should skip this joint and introduce you to Indiana Jones, or something. Yours?” 

He’s once again remembering why Castiel is so awesome, anyway. It’s hard to pin down, but it seems like Cas had a high chance of turning out like a douche… and instead wound up some awesome, awkward, socially-incapacitated geek with a sense of humour so bizarre that Dean is the only one who gets it and an understanding of Dean so thorough that it’s slightly jarring. Cas is utterly unfathomable. He’s both completely hopeless and really capable; this huge, obvious enigma that Dean feels like he’s understood forever. Which is why, with the Dutch courage provided with three beers, he’s so ready to get this show on the road. Maybe. If Cas ever gets what he’s trying to do, which is seeming growingly unlikely. 

“I haven’t finished unpacking.” 

“Well,” Dean says, “Sam’s probably asleep. He’s a right bitch if you wake him up.” 

“I haven’t unpacked the television.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean says, “It’s fine, Cas, let’s go.” 

“Dean, we still have drinks,” Cas says, nodding emphatically to their unfinished beers, as if Dean’s unaware of their continued existence. He’d like to atomise them before he can lose the bottle to go ahead with this, but that’s sadly beyond the realms of his ability. 

“You have beers at yours, don’t you?” 

“I just paid for these,” 

“Right, fine,” Dean says, rolling his eyes, “We’ll finish the beer.” 

“You’re acting very strangely, Dean.” 

“I’m acting fine,” Dean shoots back, frowning. He wants to text Charlie for more help, but a glance at his phone tells him that the last text Charlie sent him was in three parts, part two of which has Charlie detailing something Dean definitely _never_ plans to do with Cas’ trench coat. “I’m just…” 

“Is it Sam?” 

“No,” Dean says, “No, me and Sam are good, actually, better than good.” 

“I’m glad,” Cas says, and because it’s Cas he means it right down to his bones, which is some damn frustrating and endearing that Dean doesn’t know what the hell to do with it. He’s not used to dealing with all these, you know, emotions all at once, and he’s not sure he really likes it. He definitely doesn’t like the fact that he’s overthought everything about this into a massive mess, and now he’s too chicken shit to actually do anything. 

“S’actually ‘bout you,” Dean manages, only it comes out about an octave lower and softer than it was supposed, so it’s a damn near miracle that Cas even manages to hear him. He must do, though, if the downward tilt of his lips is anything to go by. Course, Cas probably thinks he’s about to retract his friendship or yell at him, because this whole thing is messed up like that. 

“What…?” 

“How about that movie?” Dean says, standing up. He’s still barely touched his beer and Cas is only about halfway through his, but this time Cas doesn’t seem inclined to object. He had meant to sit here and drink the rest of it, it’s just that the bar is beginning to feel like it’s closing in around him, and he needs some air and a few more seconds to think. He picks up his beer and downs about half of it, nodding at Cas to do the same. Cas sighs like Dean is both insane and mildly irritating, but takes up his own beer all the same. Dean gives him the length of time for another three swigs of beer. “All right, you’ve got your money’s worth, Mr Thrifty.” 

“I don’t understand,” Cas complains, but stands up and follows him anyway. 

He’d optimistically thought that Castiel might get that he doesn’t actually want to watch a movie at some point during the ride home, because it’s one of those ‘come in for coffee’ lines which are so obvious and _arbitrary_ that he’s damn sure Cas couldn’t have missed it, but then it occurs to him that watching films completely falls under the bracket of things-friends-do, so it figures that Cas wouldn’t think too deeply about it. 

Especially if Charlie is right, and Cas is knee deep in the illusion that Dean is super-straight and kissed him that one time (although, he supposes if they’re counting the poker match, two times) because he was desperately trying to make Cas stick around, and that he’s more likely to actually want to hit on Cas’ sister then… yeah, he’s not exactly going to be getting the right reading on the situation. 

“You really _haven’t_ unpacked much,” Dean says, depositing his jacket on top of one of the boxes of books. Then, most of Cas’ boxes are boxes of books; Dean should know, he’s had to lug them around twice. Cas is facing him in the doorway with his trench coat still on (and what the hell is with that, anyway), his Dean-has-lost-it expression still etched into his features. 

“I told you,” Cas says, “the TV isn’t plugged in and I don’t own Indiana Jones.” 

“Of course you don’t,” Dean says, glancing at the ceiling for strength, “can I at least get a beer?” 

“Of course, Dean,” Cas says, trudging off to the kitchen. Dean sucks in a breath of air and takes a seat on the sofa which is, mercifully, not covered in crap. Cas is utterly clueless… which makes the whole thing significantly more difficult. He and Charlie made an error in their calculations, in that Dean’s only picked someone up who knew Dean was trying to pick them up, and the fact that Cas doesn’t know that is most of the problem anyway. 

He’s halfway to talking himself out of it and rescheduling to the fifth of never, because clearly he is not cut out for this, when Cas reappears out of nowhere. He’s on edge enough that Cas’ usual habit of appearing silently behind his shoulder is enough for him to snap at the guy, which means now he’s doing the exact thing that they always seem to fall back on; taking things out on each other. 

And then he realises that Cas is holding Dean’s favourite brand of beer, even though Cas doesn’t really like it that much, which means Cas bought it just for him in case he happened to come over, which makes not grabbing a handful of trench coat and kissing him virtually impossible. 

“Sit down,” Dean instructs, because Cas is hovering and it’s making him nervous. He’s plenty nervous all ready. Cas sits down. “You look like you’re being frigging painted. Can you just relax?” 

“If you only came over to order me around,” Cas says, deep voice full of irritation. 

“So you’re the only one who’s allowed to act like a jerk, now?” Dean bites back, even though that’s really not what he meant to do at all. He’s got another text from Charlie that he doesn’t have the time to read, and the giddy high that’s settled over him since he found out he’s Sam’s best friend is beginning to give way to full blown frustration about how incapable he is. Cas accepts the comment for what it is, completely fair, and frowns at him silently. Except he didn’t want to snap at Cas and he’d thought he was over being mad at the guy, but apparently the irritation is still lurking somewhere in his gut and resurfacing alongside his unreasonable nervousness…. And Cas is sat too far away from him on the sofa, so he can’t even _do anything_ now. 

“Why is this so frigging difficult?” Dean asks, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Cas likely has no idea what he’s talking about, although is probably rationalising it as Dean still being mad at him which he’s not, not really, except for the part where he’s probably still not over Cas ditching him to go find his asshole father, because Dean has abandonment issues and he’s probably in love with the guy. 

“I can plug in the TV, if that would help.” 

Dean laughs at that and Cas frowns at him some more. 

“I don’t care about the movie, Cas,” Dean says, and he can practically _smell_ Cas’ confusion at this point. He’s entirely sure that his is the worst pick up attempt of all time, and that’s saying something considering he once watched a shop lifter try and hit on Jo the day before her father’s funeral. He’s hoping that at least this doesn’t end up with him with a broken nose, though. “I just wanted to hang out and now I’m being an asshole. Need to get a grip, Jesus. You want me to leave, Cas?” 

“Rarely,” Cas says, the hard line of his shoulders relaxing slightly into the sofa. Dean sucks in another breath and gives himself a pep talk whilst still trying to work out whether the mission is still a go, or whether he should lick his wounds and try again at a later date, or just give up completely. They could spend the next year or whatever secretly pining for each other, before Cas finishes his degree, gives up, and does something impressive with his life, and Dean could enlist and get shot at and maybe get shot, whilst Sam tells his college friends about his big brother best friend and…fuck, he’s thinking too much. 

Dean finally takes up the beer Cas offered him five minutes ago and takes a sip, contemplating. 

His phones vibrates again. 

“Charlie,” Dean says, by way of explanation, and opens it up (tilting the screen as far away from Cas as possible). The latest text reads _assume silence means fucking?_ which is pretty optimistic from her end. “She, er, wants me to help with her archers.” 

_effing up big time. Mission abort?_

He gets back an entirely capitalised _NEVEER!!!_ , which causes a whole body wince. He almost wishes he’d never talked to Charlie about any of this, because he has a billion scenarios running round his head and he’s also trying to work out how Cas is rationalising his actions, too, and none of its helping. Plus, he knows Charlie’s going to nag him about it forever. 

“I wasn’t aware you were so effected by Charlie’s strategic difficulties,” 

“Right,” Dean says, “Yeah, that was a lie… uh, Charlie’s trying to help me with this thing that I just keep fucking up and…” 

“Dean,” 

“And I’m really shitty at this stuff, Cas,” Dean manages, and he’s moved perceptively closer without realising, which is a good thing by all accounts. “I’m trying to work it out but…” 

“Can I help?” Cas asks, and maybe Cas does have an idea about where Dean’s thoughts are levelled and maybe he doesn’t, but they’re back to violating all the usual rules of personal space. Cas’ looking right at him, blue gaze intense and searching, and this is probably the only in he’s going to get. It’s not exactly perfect or neat and he possibly needs to be a bit drunker, but… 

Dean sets down his beer. 

“It would help,” Dean says, his throat mangling the words so they come out twisted and a little bit broken, but at this point he’s not entirely sure if he can backtrack onto safer territory. And if retreat is impossible, then there’s only really one direction left, “if you’d just,” he’s pushing further into Cas’ personal space, and he can see Cas tracking his movements, and hear the slight intake of breath and it’s just… “Get with the program.” 

Then he kisses him. It’s probably the most chaste kiss he’s ever had, ever, in that he barely presses their lips together before he backs off (just a bit), but it’s enough that he’s seriously freaking the fuck out. 

Cas blinks. 

Dean’s beginning to plan a hasty retreat to the exit, a week of ignoring the guy and somehow trying to pass the whole thing off as him being drunk (he’s had like, three and a half beers so it’d be stretching the truth, slightly, but Cas might not call him out on it), when Cas surges forward and kisses his bottom lip, tentatively, like he’s not really sure that he’s allowed. 

He’s not going to mention the chaste kiss-rally that they having going on here when he retells the story to Charlie, that’s for sure, but the relief is catching up with him and the tension is bleeding out of his shoulders in a rush. He hasn’t been chucked out of the apartment or yelled at, and Cas kissed him back, in a working-out-if-we’re-on-the-same-page kind of way, but… all the same. 

“Oh,” Cas says, withdrawing. He’s taking a second just staring at him and Dean figures Cas is probably re-cataloguing all of Dean’s ridiculous behaviour in the past half an hour and, finally, catching up and working him out. The second is suspended with them just staring at each other for a moment, before Cas all but _pounces _on him, completely invading his side of the sofa.__

 _ _“About time,” Dean sighs as Cas’ presses their lips together, properly this time, and there’s one hand cupping his jaw and another curving round his back, and Dean hasn’t felt like this forever, and it’s completely worth the last hour of freaking out to _finally_ have body contact. __

__

Cas is warm and good and safe and he’s back. And, also, he’s pressing his lips against the spot under Dean’s ear and scrabbling for purchase under Dean’s t-shirt, so Dean’s completely lost the upper hand in this one; he wasn’t reckoning on Cas taking control, but, actually, he can totally get behind it. It’s frigging hot, for one, but it’s also finally getting his brain to shut the hell up, to the point where the only thing he’s thinking about is getting his hands on more of Cas’ skin, and maybe taking Charlie up on her suggestion about Cas’ tie. 

“Lose the trench coat,” Dean manages in one of the moments where Cas’ lips aren’t on his, pushing it off his left shoulder with his free hand, whilst the other continues mapping out Cas’ torso. “Dude, how are you not _melting?”_

“Shut up,” Cas returns, which is probably fair enough, as he draws back enough to take the thing off completely. He kisses him again, but this time it’s more of a winding down sort of kiss, which ends up with them, foreheads pressed together and breathing deeply, staring at each other like always. It’s sappier than his usual style, but he’s not really going to complain when he has Cas practically in his lap, Cas’ hands closed over his shoulders, Cas right here, right now, in the flesh. 

“Bedroom?” Dean suggests. 

On some level, he’s aware that a conversation is required at some point, but on a more important, more current level, anything other than getting to run his hands over Cas’ bare shoulders, legs, hips is way down on his list of priorities, and can definitely wait. Preferably until after at least three rounds of mind blowing sex because, shit, Cas looking like that should be some kind of illegal, and he can’t believe how much he wants Cas and, further, how much he’s been repressing how much he wants Cas. 

“But Dean,” Cas says, smiling ever so slightly, fingers pressing into Dean’s shoulders, “you haven’t finished your beer.” 

He shuts the smarmy dick up by kissing him again, and there’s very little conversation after that.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A happy chapter! Who knew I was capable of that!?!? Heh. Thanks for all the comments on the last couple of chapters by the way, guys, they've really been making me smile :)


	26. Chapter 26

If he’d taken the time to think about it, Dean would probably have pinned Cas down as a cuddler. The guy has the stiff, wooden stature that Dean associates with not getting enough hugs as a child, although that’s probably in part because he has the relevant context. Still, he’d have figured that Cas was the kind of starved of physical contact that meant he’d hold on, but it turns out that Cas mostly keeps to his side of the bed, which about when he realises that he’s probably been describing himself as much as Cas, and that maybe he wouldn’t mind Cas taking up his side of the bed that much. He’s at the point where he feels like he should be freaking out about the fact that he’s woken up in Cas’ bed, and that last night they well and truly ruined their friendship, but he’s not.

He’s pretty much okay with it. 

His morning alarm is going off somewhere in Cas’ apartment and it’s virtually impossible to drag himself out of Cas’ bed anyway (not just because of the sleep thing, either), so it’s probably for the best that there’s a degree of distance between them. Dean drags himself up and out of Cas’ bedroom, where he’d never had much cause to go before but had been exactly as expected… His cell is wedged in the back of the sofa, it’s intermittent buzzing half muffled by the sofa. He turns it off and frowns at the three texts he has from Charlie and the two from his brother because, shit, he forgot to tell Sam he wasn’t coming home last night. Mentioning it before seemed damn presumptuous and then he’d been too distracted, and then boneless and comfortable and exhausted and with Cas too rapped round him to consider getting out of bed. And he’ll hate himself for it in a few hours’ time, but not right now. 

It’s half six and he’s slept for about two hours, but he took on the morning shift at Pamela’s so he could go to Bobby’s for some form of Sunday dinner. He should probably drive home and change his clothes, but it’s eclipsed by his desire to crawl back into bed for five minutes. He put on fresh clothes right before picking up Cas and he has a clean work shirt stowed in the staffroom, so whatever. 

He pulls on his boxers before slipping back under the covers (it’s been an age since his slept naked because of the whole little brother thing, and he’s vaguely uncomfortable about it now he’s completely sober and not thinking entirely with his dick) and drifts over into Cas’ space. Cas is still dead to the world so he doubts he’s going to judge him for it and, going by the way Cas turns over and presses his face into Dean’s neck, Cas also doesn’t entirely mind the intrusion. 

He texts Sam letting him know he crashed at Cas’ and that he’ll meet him at Bobby’s (with a slight grovelling tone, because he’d tear Sam a new one if he ever didn’t let him where he was gonna be all night) and texts Charlie a smiley face because it’s easier than explaining. By all rights, he should be exhausted thanks to the lack of sleep (and the sex), but he doesn’t feel all that tired. Instead he has the just got laid confidence running through his veins, and the worry over what to do vis a vis the Cas situation is all but gone (for now, at least, he’s entirely sure it’ll come back double fold at some point) and, really, he’d like coffee and breakfast in bed and a lazy morning making out with Cas, but that’s not on the cards. As sucky as it is, he’s got like five minutes before he has to go earn his paycheque. I

t’s a shitty toss-up between pissing Cas off by waking him up unnecessarily early (he knows from nights he’s crashed on Cas’ sofa that Cas likes his sleep and absolutely does not like being woken up before at least nine AM), and being the douche bag who slips away from sleeping with his best friend without staying for breakfast without a word, even though it’s not his choice. He might have mentioned that he had to leave early at some point last night, but he can’t guarantee that he wasn’t too distracted (because, yeah, Cas is pretty damn distracting). 

Plus, this option comes with a side of grumpy Cas, and that’s always a point of amusement. 

“Cas,” Dean mutters, nudging his arm, “Cas, wake up.” 

That’d be enough to wake up either him or Sam, but Cas just presses closer into his personal space, probably for the body heat, and buries his face into Dean’s skin. He’s also effectively taken out the option of letting Cas sleep, too, because there’s no way he’s getting out of this strangle hold without waking him up. 

“Cas,” 

“ _Shush,_ Dean.” 

And if that isn’t the cutest fucking thing. 

“I’m trying not to be a dick here,” Dean tells the Cas shaped lump burying itself into his skin, “I’ve gotta go to work.” 

“Hmmm.” 

“I’ll come over later, okay?” Dean asks, “I’ll be here at seven.” 

“Seven,” Cas repeats, “okay.” 

“You gotta let me up,” Dean says, as if it isn’t his fault Cas is clinging to him, anyway. He’s half inclined to freak out about the fact that Cas was happily keeping his distance on the other side of the bed until he pushed himself into said space, but this mornings too good to ruin it by overthinking right now. They’ll be time for that later. 

“No,” 

“Cas,” Dean grins, prying himself away and, yeah, he can deal with no sleep and early mornings if he gets to see Cas’ face crinkle in displeasure with his eyes still shut tight, as he grapples for the pillow as a Dean-replacement. And maybe one day he’ll actually get to stick around for the duration of the morning, although it seems unlikely. “Sorry bout waking you,” 

He makes himself some coffee in Cas’ kitchen both because he needs the caffeine desperately and because there’s something about the small domestic act that makes it difficult for him to be pissed about the early shift at Pam’s (so early that there’s never any time for his free breakfast, which sucks ass), because he’s got Sunday Lunch with Bobby, Ellen, Jo and Sammy to look forward to. And, later, he’s coming back over here to see Cas. 

Halfway through his shower (and he doesn’t know where Cas keeps his clean towels, either, but he figures it’s probably a moot point after all the mutual nudity yesterday) he decides that Cas was probably too out of it to remember their conversation, and backtracks to the kitchen. He leaves a note under his coffee cup, promising he’ll be back at seven to wash it up. 

(On the drive to Pam’s he gets a response from Charlie, an excitable _PICTURE OR IT DIDN’T HAPPEN!! :) :)_ that has him smiling again, even though he feels like a sappy dick for it). 

* 

Somewhere between driving back from Bobby’s and leaving for Cas’, he winds up running late. It’s something to do with wanting another shower even though he had one this morning, because he’s suddenly weirdly self-conscious about how grimy he is after a seven hour shift at the diner and driving back from the salvage yard in the heat (although, it’s probably not that weird and entirely tied up in the concentrated attention Cas is liable to address to every inch of his bare skin), and eating so much food at Bobby’s that every movement is much slower than normal. He’s not going to regret the latter because Ellen bought pie and he’s not a heathen, but he does regret the ten minutes he spent dawdling because he had this sudden dumb idea that he should bring a change of clothes, and whether that would be presumptuous. Then he realised that he couldn’t stay at Cas’, anyway, because he couldn’t leave Sam alone for another night and, also, what the hell was he even doing? 

Course, that was when Sam, who’d been holding back a smug smile all day (and Dean’s been avoiding catching his eye all day), decided to corner him. 

He’d probably put together most of the pieces, anyway. It’s not like his little brother hadn’t already suggested he thought there was something there very obviously before, and Dean hadn’t exactly denied it. It’s a pretty rare occurrence that Dean uses his nights off as anything but Sam time and rarer still for Dean to not let Sam know, before the event, if he’s not coming home… so Sam had probably caught the scent right after reading his text this morning, so he’d probably already known before Dean had been not quite stressing about everything. 

“So, Cas,” Sam says, eyebrows raised. 

“Shut up,” Dean says, because it’s a conformation of sorts and because it’s easier than actual conversation. He’s always favoured these none explicit way of answering questions and, anyway, Sam can read it in the relaxed slant of his shoulders and his good mood. 

“So, you finally figured it out then?” 

“Figured what out?” Dean asks, feigning nonchalance as he grabs his jacket. Sam sends him a bitch face and he’s running kinda late, so he throws him a bone. “Yeah, yeah, I figured it out.” 

And now he’s brother’s beaming at him like it’s Christmas come early and Dean wishes he’d never bothered. 

“So, did you talk yet?” 

“What do you mean, Sammy?” 

“Oh come on,” Sam says, “I know you backwards, Dean. I know how you work. You’d never have gotten through a conversation about your feelings and stuff without sex first. Or food.” 

“Right,” Dean says, feeling like he _should_ be freaked out but actually wanting to wrap Sam in a bear hug; his brother might have some stupid ideas about him sometimes, but he knows him really. “Uh, well, I haven’t talked to him yet. I’m _gonna,_ before you start, but Cas is about as useful as a non-alcoholic beer when he hasn’t slept.” 

Sam makes a face. 

“That’s totally not what I mean,” Dean says, “but whatever.” 

“So, when are you going to talk to him?” 

“Like, now,” Dean says, because he feels like Sam definitely knew that before he started this whole conversation business, and he’s tired and running late and Cas hasn’t text him, and he doesn’t want to go all needy or anything, but he thinks that he probably should have done. A cursory ‘got your note see you later’ or similar would have eased his nervousness, but he’s got nothing. 

“I won’t wait up, then,” Sam says. 

“How long do your conversations normally take?” Dean asks, because he’s a dick and because he doesn’t want to tell Sam that he’s coming back for his sake, as he knows Sam will feel bad about it. “See you, Sammy.” 

He’d have thought the edgy nervousness he’d felt yesterday would be done with, but it seeps back into his veins on the drive over. It doesn’t exactly help that when Cas takes his sweet time answer the front door, either, and Dean’s stood in the corridor outside Cas’ apartment seconding guessing everything. 

“Dean,” Cas says, when he _finally_ opens the door. He sounds distinctly surprised to see him, but he looks even more so. The sweatpants give off a very real impression that Cas hadn’t even bothered getting dressed today, which is weird given Dean’s been at work, and then at a family thing, and then home and Cas has just been existing in his apartment this whole time (and, yeah, what does Cas do whilst Dean’s working three jobs and looking after Sam and college and everything?). It’s also jarring just because he’s so used to seeing him suited and booted. The deviation into the casual and Cas’ surprise utterly throws him for a minute, right up until the point where he remembers that he’s allowed to check Cas out now. He can totally dig Cas in sweats, especially with the sex hair. 

“Hey,” Dean says, and Cas continues to stare at him like he’s some kind of apparition, which… yeah, maybe Dean was right to worry that Cas didn’t remember the conversation they had, and the lack of text message. “Did you not get my note?” 

“Note?” 

“Riight,” Dean says, “The note saying I’d be back at seven and that I had the early shift at the dinner?” 

“Oh,” Cas says, finally stepping aside to let him enter his apartment. Apparently, Cas has spent the day unpacking, because there’s the semblance of order that was distinctly absent earlier. There’s also a bottle of Jack Daniels and one mostly empty glass on the coffee table, which doesn’t scream anything good about Cas’ current mental state. Shit. Cas’ gaze follows his and then snaps back to catch his eye, daring him to challenge him about it. He’s in too good of a mood to want to have to deal with a stupid miscommunication and Cas drinking his feelings, but he hasn’t walked into the situation he was expecting to walk into. “You should have woken me before you left.” 

“I did,” Dean says, “You’re kind of cranky at half six,” 

“I thought…” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, evenly, “I’m getting that.” 

Cas shuts the door behind him. If anything, it makes their aloneness even more pronounced and the silence of the apartment slightly more apparent. Whilst he’s sure that he’s knee-jerk reaction to waking up alone after sleeping with his best friend would probably be to get good and drunk, that’s not that much of a comfort. Dean’s not exactly the poster boy for mental health and the fact that Cas is picking up on his coping mechanisms is screwed up. He’s also caught up on the fact that Cas is so quick to think badly of him and Charlie’s talk of love-logic, and it’s all buzzing round in his head with the silence, and it’s at least killed his nerves, even if there’s nothing else good to say about it. 

“Give a guy a little credit, Cas,” Dean eventually says, “You could have text me before you started the pity party.” 

“That would have been sensible,” Cas agrees. 

“Well, do I get an invite?” Dean asks, stepping into the kitchen and fetching himself a glass. He likes Jack Daniels as much as the next guy, although it’s not really his first choice for getting drunk alone, and it’s looking like Charlie might have been right about the necessity to have a conversation about this. This… this isn’t the end of the world. He can work with this, it’s just not ideal. 

“You intended to come back?” 

“Hell, Cas, I never wanted to leave,” Dean says, “Seven hours serving college kids burgers and soda isn’t really my idea of a good time.” 

“You…” 

“I’m in if you are,” Dean says. The relief in Cas’ expression is two parts amazing and one part guilt inducing, because if he’d made himself more clear Cas might not have spent the day drinking Jack alone, but ultimately it’s difficult to feel too bad about that when Cas is reaching out and they’re grappling with the space between them and winding up more or less intertwined. Cas backs him into the kitchen counter, pushy guy that he is, and Dean gets his hands in his hair. 

He tastes of Jack Daniels, which is a bit of a kick in the teeth, but it’s good enough that Dean’s willing to forget about it. 

It turns out Cas, dumb fuck that he is, had a ready meal for lunch and hasn’t eaten since. They wind up with Dean cooking him dinner in the kitchen, taking pains to point out his very obviously placed note, to which Cas says, in that snarky way of his, “I believe this was _my bad”_ which Dean had laughed at rather than cried over, because he can’t deal with that side issue right now. They lose intermittent minutes finding out the right piece of skin to kiss to make Dean forget about the boiling pan and Cas the fact that he’s starving (“of course you are, you goddamn idiot, Jack ain’t food”), and Dean tries to argue that it’s Cas’ fault they nearly set the kitchen on fire twice, but the food makes it out alive and they do to. He’s a hundred percent sure that if Sam ever saw them he’d call them adorable, so that’s definitely not gonna happen any time soon, but he might even be able to deal with Sam’s smugness if he gets to laugh at Cas’ pinched expression when he gets sauce on his forehead, and the way it gives way to a smile when Dean swipes it off with his thumb and makes a lewd comment about it. 

They fall into the sofa when Cas is eating, and Dean fixes the TV up, and Cas is trying to persuade him to eat too, because _‘you should enjoy the fruits of your labour, Dean’_ and he counteracts that there are other things he’d rather do with his mouth, which is how Dean Winchester ends up giving his first blowjob. 

The food winds up half eaten and forgotten, but neither of them particularly care about the wasted labour. 

* 

The other stuff doesn’t permeate through his good mood until he’s pulling his jeans back on in Cas’ bedroom whilst Cas, caffeine addicted angel that he is, is making them both coffee. They were having a conversation about something (and Cas is probably still having it from the kitchen but he’s tuned out), before he happened to glance at his watch and remember about that thing called time, and that he’s exhausted, and Sam’s alone, and he hadn’t made Sam dinner because they ate so much at Ellen’s, and he has work semi-early, so he needs to go home. Since, Dean’s sort of numbly started redressing. His shirt’s in the kitchen and he’s jacket’s draped over the back of the sofa, but leaving this room will announce the fact that he’s _leaving_ to Cas, and he doesn’t want to kill the mood just yet. 

Except, fuck, he’s tuned in to Cas talking about whether Dean will be able to stay for breakfast tomorrow morning. The potential for a do over of today probably sounds more tempting to Cas than for him (because at least he didn’t think he’d been screwed over and then proceeded to drink about it), but he’s still aching for the idea of it. Cas is talking about how all he has in is the sort of cereal with dried fruit in it (which, gross by the way) and then he stops short in the doorway. 

Apparently Dean has already screwed up twice, because he should have said this from the off. _I know you’ve been drinking all day because you thought I didn’t care about you thanks to a miscommunication but, actually Cas, thanks for the hand job and the coffee, I’m heading off home now._ He’s an idiot and maybe Charlie’s right when she says he should use his words, but he can never get them to encapsulate quite what he means. 

“Cas, I can’t stay.” He forces himself to look Cas dead in the eye as he says it. It’s sort of a punishment for the fact that he’d put off mentioning it until now and sort of just a punishment for having to leave in the first place, because he’s pulling a dick move and he knows it. 

“Sam,” Cas says. 

“Left him alone last night and most of yesterday, and with him not being in school I don’t want him sat around the apartment all day. Kids only sixteen, much as he likes to think otherwise and I…” 

“I understand,” Cas says, even though he can’t possibly. Sure, the guy can understand in the academic ability to comprehend sort of way, but… he can’t actually be okay with it. It’s beginning to catch up with him that Cas has just thrown himself into a this thing (relationship?) where he’s gonna get literally nothing out of it. Dean’s only got so much of himself to give, here, and Sam’s always gotta be the priority. 

Cas knows that. Cas also probably wants Sam to be his priority, because that’s right and good and it’s hardwired into Dean’s make-up, but there’s a difference between abstractedly wanting someone to have their priorities straight, and actively having to face it whenever they crawl home after you’ve screwed. His thing with Bella was messed up enough that it was a similar deal at times, and Dean knows the dirty, lonely feeling that comes with and… and he’s putting Cas through that. 

He put Cas through it today because of a stupid miscommunication, but now he’s doing it all over again on purpose. 

“Is this… is this gonna be a problem?” The question hangs in the air like a death sentence and Dean’s stomach turns over. Cas isn’t blinking and Dean can’t move, because _of course_ it’s going to be a problem. It’s going to be a problem and it’s probably going to break them, because it’s not fair on Sam and it’s not fair on Cas. Probably not fair on him, either, if the way he feels like he’s being split in half is anything to go by. 

“No,” Cas says, forcing the word out of his mouth as quickly as possible, as if to negate the expanse of time before the question and the answer. The pause was still too pregnant and too big. Cas’ words only highlighted the problem. “We’ll work it out.” 

He’s second attempt doesn’t sound much more convincing than the first. 

“You free Wednesday? Like… after three, before seven?” 

“No,” Cas says, frowning. 

“Uh,” Dean says, running his schedule over again and trying to find another gap. He’s been doing well enough that he’d managed to talk Ellen into upping his hour allowance just in the weeks before school, in an attempt to put some dollar away, but now the extra hours are causing him to trip up. Especially with Benny and Charlie squashed into his schedule. “Next Sunday? I’ll juggle some shifts,” Dean says, when he sees Cas’ frown deepen ever so slightly. Guy probably didn’t want the motion to be detectable, but Dean can read him like a book. “We’ll work it out,” Dean says, parroting Cas’ words right back at him. 

He doesn’t believe it, either. 

(He gets back to his apartment to Sam’s surprise and a text from Cas reading just _I can be free Wednesday_ , which is enough to stop the worst of the worry). 

* 

It takes a disproportionate amount of time for Wednesday to arrive, and he doesn’t talk to Cas much in the intermittent time, just because he’s not entirely sure what to say. He’s not about to start with the how-was-your-day-dear shit because his days are, frankly, all the same. The only way he’s dealt with the last three days of monotony is the promise of Wednesday, which is why he doesn’t roll his eyes at Charlie for the ‘go get him tiger’ he gets when he’s disappearing into the backroom to get his jacket and his phone, and why he’s damn near cheerful as he pulls it out to work out how much time he’s bought them. 

Three missed calls, all from Jo. 

And Jo never calls him. 

She answers his returning call on the first ring. 

“My cars broken down,” Jo says, only she sounds upset in a way that Dean hasn’t heard her sound since her dad died, or maybe slightly after that, and Dean can feel his stomach clenching on automatic. He knows what this means and…. 

“You called Bobby?” Dean asks, because there might still be a way to salvage the situation. 

Then Jo tells him where she is. 

* 

“The fuck are you doing in this part of town?” Dean says, pissed off and probably sexually frustrated and completely disappointed, after he’d finally pulls up in front of Jo and her stupid car and is half way through fixing the damnable thing. 

He’d told her to get something more reliable in the first place and he’d feel self-satisfied about being right if Jo hadn’t managed to find the roughest place in a fifty mile radius to break down in, which of course is as far away from Cas’ apartment as he could possibly be. He’d had to text Cas on the way over and explain that he was probably going to be really frigging late for the only three hours they were gonna manage to see each other this week and it’s shot his good mood to hell. 

Jo frowns at him and folds her arms. 

“I’m serious, Jo, you better start talking.” 

“There was this guy,” 

“Really?” Dean demands, shoulders hunching over the open hood of the car. They’re lucky that Jo knows enough about cars that she’d been able to tell him what was wrong, and probably would have been able to fix it herself if she had the right bits. Instead, Dean had to drive back home to pick stuff up before turning round and heading out here, speeding most of the way because he was just plain worried. “A guy. Well.” Jo passes him a wrench. “Your Mom met this guy?” 

“Dean, you can’t,” Jo says, “You can’t tell her.” 

“The hell I can’t,” 

“She’ll pitch a fit,” Jo says. 

“Damn straight.” 

“I’m two years younger than you,” Jo says, voice rising, “I am not a child. How come Mom treats you like an adult and me like a frigging kid?” 

“Maybe because when she turns her back for five minutes, your car breaks down and you have to call for backup – ” 

“– that’s not my fault,” Jo bites back, “Promise me you won’t tell Mom were I was.” 

It’s an awkward situation not least because he knows he’d want to know if it were Sam, and he also knows that Ellen would tell him if it were Sam…. But Jo is an adult at least in theory, and he can’t promise that if he told Ellen it wouldn’t in part be payback for her ruining his day, which isn’t really Jo’s fault. 

“If you promise me this _guy_ is history,” 

“Never knew you cared, Winchester,” Jo says, sniffing, “He’s a jerk, anyway.” 

“A jerk in a place like this? You surprise me, Joanna,” Dean says, setting down the wrench and squinting at the engine for a second. “Should be fine, now.” 

“What’s got your panties in a twist, anyway?” Jo asks. “Missing a hot date or something?” 

“Yes,” Dean says, because at least if Jo feels bad about this he’ll have less reasons to rat on her. “I’m supposed to be getting laid right now, and instead I drove out here to save your ass. And now I’ve got to reschedule to, oh wait, never, which is when I’m next free.” 

“I’m sorry,” 

“It’s fine,” Dean says, but the frustration creeps into his voice anyway. “Probably not gonna work out anyway. Get your ass home, Jo, before your Mom sniffs out your absence.” 

“Thank you,” Jo says, running a hand over the front of the Impala with an attempt at a smile. “I’ll see you later.” 

He waits for Jo to get a few minutes away before he climbs back into the Impala and calls Cas. 

He doesn’t get much further than grating out a ‘hello’ before he hurts. Goddamn it all to hell, because he can near enough hear Cas’ frowning on the other end of the phone and Cas knows exactly what he’s gonna say. Hell, Cas probably knew Dean wasn’t coming the second he got his first text, because that’s the sort of thing that happens with Dean. 

“You’re not coming,” Cas says, direct as always. Dean’s free hand tightens on the steering wheel, blinking. He doesn’t know why he can’t have this, because he’s been killing himself trying his whole life and… 

“I’m forty minutes away,” Dean says. His original text was a brief overview of the situation, so Cas knows that Jo broke down and Dean had to drive out and fix her car, but he hadn’t mentioned where. It’s the driving that’s screwed his plan. 

“It’s okay,” 

“The hell it is,” Dean snaps back, “You rearranged your plans and I stood you up.” 

“It’s not your fault,” 

“Doesn’t mean it’s okay,” Dean shoots back, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel and sucking in a deep breath. “Really wanted to see you,” 

“Dean,” Cas says, and it feels a little bit like being stabbed. 

“Maybe this isn’t gonna work,” Dean says, voice just a little above a whisper. Cas is silent down the other end of the phone, and once again his lack of rush to contradict him speaks as loud as any words could. He can try and counteract it with more empty words about how it’s all going to be okay if he really wants to, but it doesn’t change the fact that they’re less than a week in and they’re both terrified. They’ve barely even begun and if Dean had just thought this damn thing through instead of throwing himself out there… maybe he could have prevented this whole mess. 

“We finish at the same time tonight,” Cas says, “Can we talk then?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, closing his eyes shut, “We can talk then.” 

* 

Dean had thought the shift at the Roadhouse had been awkward, with both of them half avoiding each other and half pressing into each other’s personal spaces (and Jo had raised her eyebrows at him in a way that probably meant she’d worked out who his hot date was supposed to be), but the drive, in separate cars, back to Cas’ place was worse. They silently parked side by side and walked up to Cas’ front door without looking at each other; Cas missing the keyhole several times because he was shaking slightly whilst Dean pretended not to notice, and in all the ways that things have been messed up between them before, he’s never felt so out of place in Cas’ presence before. 

It’s actually kind of impressive how much Dean’s managed to royally screw up their friendship in the past week… and how long ago was it that they decided to turn over a new leaf? It’s wasn’t long ago that they were calling each other all hours of the day and texting about burgers, and now they can’t even manage a conversation because they’re both know how the conversation is gonna go, and he doesn’t want it. 

When they’re beyond the walls of Cas’ apartment, Cas finally turns to look at him. The slope of his shoulders screams the fact that he’s upset and irritated and frustrated, and Dean’s sure the sentiments are echoed right back in his body language. He’s shit at this talking business and he doesn’t know how to start, or if there’s a solution, or if this is going to be it. It’s goddamn ridiculous that this is how the whole thing has played out and there’s got to be something they can do, he’s just too dumb to work it out right now. 

“I love you,” Cas says, lips twisted downwards into a frown and eyes staring at him unapologetically. Dean can’t fucking breathe and he can’t lose Cas now, not like this. His chest has turned to ice and Cas is looking at him, and they’re supposed to be talking about today and Sunday morning and Sunday evening, but it’s only Wednesday and he’s not giving up yet. 

“Yeah,” Dean breathes, in lieu of me too, or shut up, or no you don’t, or any of the other responses that might have fallen out of his lips if he was better at any of this stuff. He reaches out for a fist of Cas’ shirt and then pulls him towards him. Cas lets him and they stumble backwards together. 

Cas throws his arms around Dean’s neck and Dean has a handful of Cas’ hips, and he’s not sure how they end up on the sofa. They’re supposed to be talking and everything is different in a bad way, because there’s a desperate edge to the movements that wasn’t there before, and Cas reaches for his belt before his shirt, and no one’s laughing or stopping to make jokes. 

“Cas, I…” He’s fumbling for the end of his sentence in the curvature of Cas’ neck, and he might be aiming for I love you and he might be aiming for I need you but he’s not entirely sure. 

“Fuck me,” Cas says before he can find out, and it’s enough to chase that thought straight out of his head. 

It’s a bad idea. It’s the king of all bad ideas. Two weeks ago he’d still been working out that maybe he can dig guys too, and they stuck to safe ground on Sunday. It’s less than a week since this whole thing started and it’s not like the past few days have been blissful. He came here thinking they were gonna call time, and maybe they still will, and that’s why they’re clawing at each other’s clothes like it’s the end of the of the world; it’s probably why he doesn’t pull away and tell Cas no, and it’s probably why Cas suggested it in the first place. 

And Dean’s pretty well known for his bad ideas. 

* 

It’s after, when he Cas laid out on top of him, hands still running over the curve of his hips, when Cas voices the question they’re both thinking about. 

“Are you leaving?” 

His hands still. 

“I could stay,” Dean hedges, because saying he can’t after they fucked has got to be strike three, even though the whole thing felt like they were just clinging to each other to draw it out anyway. They need to talk. They really really need to talk. 

“What time would you have to leave tomorrow?” 

“I’m supposed to be going running with Sam at eight,” 

“It’s past three,” Cas says, pulling himself away. Dean’s body misses the heat and the warm weight and just _Cas_ all ready, and he doesn’t like it. “Go, Dean. Get some sleep.” 

He could shake his head and refuse to go, drag Cas back his arms and hold them hostage on the sofa. Or he could ask Cas to come back to his apartment with him, or ask him to come running with them tomorrow. He doesn’t, though, because they were supposed to talk and they didn’t and nothing is any more sorted than it was earlier. 

“Cas, I….” 

Cas cuts him off again. Dean’s not exactly sure whether Cas is scared he’ll say it or is scared that he won’t, but he drags him back into a kiss before Dean can finish his sentence. 

“You can use my shower before you leave.” 

“That’s sweet,” Dean says, because that’s a dismissal if ever he heard one, and maybe Cas actually wants him to leave. Cas sends him a look and Dean kisses him again, because he’s an idiot and he doesn’t want to admit that there’s a chance this won’t last, even though he knows it probably can’t. 

When he comes out the shower Cas is gone and his bedroom door is shut closed. He’s sure that he’s supposed to slink out the front door without another word, and that Cas is doing his damnest to avoid having to deal with him any longer, but he doesn’t want that. 

He pushes his way into Cas’ bedroom, anyway. It’s ill-advised and it probably won’t make either of them happier in the long run, but they already kinda ruined tonight when, theoretically, things should have been good. If you took out the ‘we need to talk’ and the fact that neither of them know where the hell they stand… Cas said he loves him and they properly slept together, and everything is already cheapened enough without Dean sneaking out of the damned apartment without so much as a see you later. 

Cas is face down in the middle of the bed and Dean has enough knowledge to know that’s not how Cas sleeps, so he crawls up the bed, seeking out the muffled edges of Cas’ curves under the covers. 

“You’ll get my sheets wet,” 

“I’m not coming in, don’t worry,” Dean says, running his fingers over the expanse of Cas’ back that’s available to him. It’s knotted up with tension and displeasure, and on day, if he gets the chance to, he’s going to spend hours easing away every single damn knot, because the guy is uptight in a way that even sex can’t fully cure. He’ll learn every inch of skin and every ticklish spot and everything to do to get the guy to frigging _relax_. 

Dean presses his lips against one of the knobs of Cas’ spine, following them downwards till the sheet gets in his way. He smooths his thumbs over Cas shoulders and breathes in the undefinable Cas scent that always makes him relax, slightly. 

“You’re getting the top of my sheets wet,” 

“When are you free?” 

Cas shifts, so Dean gives him enough room to twist around and look up at him. Even in the gloom, Cas’ eyes are still the same piercing blue, sharp enough to cut through Dean’s words to try and get to the meaning beneath them. He’s trying to throw them a lifeline. 

Dean lets out a shaky breath and waits for Cas to pass judgement, even though he knows he’s asking for the impossible. If he were a little less selfish, he’d have left when Cas told him to. Instead, he’s barged back in and asked for things he has no right to ask for. 

“I’ll call you,” 

It’s not quite a death sentence. He can live with that. 

“Yeah, okay,” Deans says, closing his eyes for a second before he pulls away. Cas stops him with a hand on the shoulder, pulls him in for another kiss. 

“Lock up behind you,” Cas says, “There’s a spare key in the cutlery draw.” 

The key to Cas’ apartment lies heavy in his pocket and has him up until Sam comes into his room and asks if he’s ready for their run, because what the _hell_ does that even mean?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... we had a happy chapter? And now things are kind of... er, interesting. I promise they will talk at some point. Also, when did this story get so long???


	27. Chapter 27

The exhaustion is this crippling weight pulling at his limbs and making every last movement feel like a great effort. He’s been juggling the same number of shifts as he has been in the past few weeks without it pulling at him like this, and it’s finally dawning on him that the tiredness he’s been drowning him for years was a lack of hope right from the off. He’s been digging his grave whilst trying to keep the both afloat, and it was the fact that he didn’t believe things could get better that made every single day so damn difficult. 

And hope is energising to the point that the reality check is jarring in comparison. Realising that there’s no way to make it work with Cas has half gutted him, in part because he’s faced with the reality that things can only get so good. Maybe he can manage it so they’re no longer balanced on a knife edge, so that him and Sam have a degree of security, but that doesn’t mean he has a right to expect anything more. 

The worst part about it is it’s what he always asked for, and he’s got it. He wanted Sam happy and Sam’s happy, and damnit but it’s not enough. Now he wants things. He got carried away playing at being happy, and now he’s fucked things up with Cas (and fucked Cas, too), because now it’s too late. Before, they might have been able to talk about it, not in direct words but around the subject in ways that were clear enough to get the message across, and they could have at least salvage a friendship out of the whole mess (a friendship of sorts, anyway). 

But Dean was only thinking about working out his damn feelings, not working out whether he’s feelings fucking meant anything in real terms. And they don’t, which is the crux of the thing that he’s been trying his damnest to explain to everyone since day one: it doesn’t matter if Dean is angry at his father, because family has to stick together; it doesn’t matter if Dean feels like he’s drowning, because the bills have got to be paid; it doesn’t matter if he’s in love with Cas, because he doesn’t have the time for it. Feelings don’t pay any debts and feelings don’t change the way the world works. His _feelings_ are worthless, and they always have been. 

If he’d just remembered that he could have at least sparred Cas, too. There was no point in hurting them both. 

“Dean,” Charlie says, pulling him back out of his thoughts and into the present. His head hurts and that headache’s back, and he’d felt the very real possibility of a stupid decision pressing at the corners of his mind. So he’d done the practical thing and text Charlie, because he couldn’t tell Sam that he thought, maybe, he might be slipping and apparently he and Cas are incapable of talking right now, and he had to make himself accountable to someone. Even if it means taking their light friendship and adding an unwanted side of Dean’s issues, he didn’t know that he had a whole other lot of options. She suggested coffee and now he’s going over the whole of the last fortnight in headache-inducing detail, whilst Charlie just sits there and listens. “Let me get this straight, pun intended. So you couldn’t make Wednesday,” Charlie says, “for reasons completely outside of your control, so then you and Cas agree to talk. Except, instead of talking you guys fell into the passionate throws of first time actual full frontal sex, because neither of you actually wanted to talk? And now, what, he’s your booty call? And you still haven’t talked but you occasionally go over to his place and fuck? And he’s in love with you and you have a key to his apartment?” 

“It’s always outside my damn control,” Dean manages back, “There’s always something, Charlie.” 

If it’s not a car crash it’s a funeral or being randomly fired at work. Every time he finds his footing there’s a god damn avalanche, and this time he’d actually managed some of the climb so there’s a longer way for him to fall back down. It’s a cliché but it’s true, and he’d liked believing in hope right up until the point where it started going to shit. 

“I can give the guy, what,” Dean says, “one night a week? An hour between shifts and making dinner for Sam. Maybe a whole evening if I juggle it right. Then he gets a few hours with me, exhausted and moody, before I ditch him to go supervise my kid brother doing his homework. Everyone loses.” 

“He knows that’s your life,” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “but there’s a big difference between knowing and living it. Charlie, I’m a fuck up. I’m a mess. I’ve only just started being okay with doing things for myself, and I… I don’t have room for another person and I was stupid to think I did. I was damned stupid.” 

“You were happy!” Charlie says, “Cas was happy. You, Dean Winchester, are allowed that.” 

“How’s it gonna pan out?” Dean asks, stomach turning over, “How long you reckon it’s gonna be before Cas realises he don’t wanna be waiting for his dumb bartender boyfriend to find time between his shifts to see him?” 

“Cas bartends, Dean.” 

“Because he’s douchebag family cut him off and now he’s poor,” 

“How is that different?” Charlie demands, “Scratch that. I can’t talk you into logic. Why don’t you talk to him about this, instead of assuming you know Cas wants. And he wants you. So just, stop with the angst, and go be happy.” 

“I thought you liked the angst,” Dean says, flicking an empty sugar packet in her direction. He didn’t really mean for this to happen, but he got another wave of realising how doomed the whole thing was right after he put the key to Cas’ apartment on the same key ring as his car keys. Then he didn’t answer some text from Cas about his run, and after that they just sort of stopped talking altogether. He doesn’t even know if Cas has emailed Gabriel again or called Anna, although he likes to think Cas would tell him if they’d been a development. Instead they’ve managed to be free at the same time enough for Dean to go over there and fool around for an hour whatever, before Dean says he’ll see him soon like he really means, then freaks out the second he gets out of the parking lot. And he hates himself for it. 

“As a build up to all the love and stuff,” Charlie says, rolling her eyes, “You’re miserable.” 

“I’m just tried,” 

“Same difference,” Charlie says, “Text him. Talk to him. At your place, where you’re not liable to screw to avoid talking.” 

“I can’t.” 

“Pretty sure trying to keep this away from Sam is like ninety percent of the problem,” Charlie says, “Cas and Sam get along. Sam’s a big part of your life. Just invite Cas to watch a movie with you guys or something. Keeping them separate isn’t helping anyone. You’ll just have to keep it PG for a couple of hours.” 

“I dunno,” 

“Dean,” Charlie says, rolling her eyes, “you need me to call Benny so you can hit something?” 

“Can’t,” Dean says, because he’s too exhausted for it right now. 

“You need to come to mine and shoot at some shit?” Charlie offers, which is how he ends up not quite passed out with exhaustion on Charlie’s sofa whilst she blows up some aliens. He gets drawn in after a round where he starts correcting her strategy and by the time he has to leave to go to the Roadhouse, he’s actually feeling a little bit better. 

At least, until, Cas shows up and they have awkward light conversations whilst exchanging god awful sorrowful looks that he’s sure Ellen’s picked up on now, too. And maybe everything would be easier if he just told them both out right that he and Cas are a thing now, but he doesn’t want to do that if it’s going to go to the crapper in a few weeks’ time. 

* 

“You need new clothes and shit,” Dean says, squaring his shoulders against the onslaught of the shopping mall with a grimace, “New school year and all that.” 

“I don’t,” Sam protests. 

“You’ve been telling me you need new shit for school since you turned eight,” Dean counteracts, “And you’re growing so fast nothing frigging fits, so suck it up.” 

“It’s not a new school,” Sam says, “Everyone already knows me,” 

“And you’re still a foot taller than when summer started, so quit whining." 

“I can buy stuff myself,” Sam throws back, “I have a job.” 

“Only for another week,” Dean says, distractedly wondering around the clothes shop feeling as uncomfortable as he always does in these places. It’s not so bad now the price tags don’t feel like assaults, but he’s never liked the atmosphere of people buying shit they don’t need. 

Sam has stopped dead in the middle of the t-shirts. 

“We agreed,” Dean says, “You’re not working when school starts back up.” 

Sam exhales, but doesn’t say anything. Sam doesn’t usually drop something like that unless he’s picking his battles, which means his brother’s probably got another agenda. Dean’s exhausted enough without dealing with another fight, so he chooses not to comment either. 

“I can pay for a couple of new shirts,” Sam says, after five minutes in which they’ve walked past a whole host of clothes that probably would have been okay, if Sam wasn’t doing his damnest to be as irritating as possible. “Or we could get them second hand.” 

“We don’t need to,” 

“But there isn’t a we,” Sam protests, trailing behind him. He’s reminding Dean a little of when he was four and Dean had to drag him round the supermarket because he was in a snit about something, and it isn’t all that different from how it was back then. “Because you’re not getting any new clothes.” 

“I’m not in the middle of a growth spurt,” Dean says, “Just drop it, Sammy. I could eat. Could you eat? Wanna get some food?” 

“Why aren’t you hanging out with Cas right now?” Sam asks, and he’s stopped in the middle of the shop again. Dean swallows because, yeah, this is high up on the list of things he doesn’t really want to deal with right this second. 

“Because, Sam,” 

“You told me to tell you if I had a problem with the way you act,” Sam says, “And I’m calling you out on this right now.” 

“On what? On taking my brother shopping?” 

“On being a jerk,” Sam says, “And being a jerk to Cas. I know you’ve been over there. You don’t shower in the middle of the day otherwise, Dean, and you can’t just…” 

“And here’s me thinking I can do whatever the hell I want.” 

“Ellen’s worried about you,” Sam says, “You haven’t spoken to Bobby. You cancelled on Benny, even though that seems to help. Ellen spoke to Pam. Everyone’s worried Dean, because you’re slipping, and if that’s because of Cas then you need to fix it.” 

“Here’s fifty dollars. Buy some clothes that fit and I’ll meet you back in the car.” 

“Dean!” Sam calls after him, but he doesn’t follow anyway. Dean stalks back to the impala with his hands shoved in his pockets and his shoulders hunched, because he knows he needs to sort this out desperately, it’s just he’s not quite sure how this works. Right now, he’s got them both held up in purgatory and it’s making them both miserable. He spends the next half an hour typing out various texts to Cas and then deleting them before he sends them, because he doesn’t know how to frame the question quite right. He settles on _Can I come over later?_ twice before deciding it sounds a little too formal. 

After resisting the urge to hit his head off the steering wheel a couple more times he sends _you free?_ , which is about the moment that Sam makes it back to the car with an armful of bags. Dean wasn’t expecting him to actually follow his instructions, because his brother’s never been one for orders he doesn’t agree with, so it’s not exactly that surprising when Sam climbs into the car and says “So I bought you some new t-shirts. Couple of pairs of jeans. New trainers. Couldn’t stretch to a new jacket, but I figure you’re pretty attached to yours anyway. Oh, and here’s your fifty dollars.” 

“What?” 

“Well, I’m not allowed to spend my money on things I need,” Sam says, “Or food. Or clothes.” 

“So you spent it on me,” Dean says, frowning, because of course he did. It’s actually pretty shocking that Sam didn’t think of that trick sooner. “Nice move, Sam, but you know I’m gonna make you take this back.” 

“How?” 

“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean frowns, pushing a thumb into his forehead, “Give me a break.” 

“No dice,” 

“All right,” Dean says, “We’ll go Dutch on your new stuff.” 

“On your stuff too.” 

“No,” 

“Well, no deal. You’re keeping it,” Sam says, folding his arms, “you haven’t had new clothes in years.” 

“Fine,” Dean says, sucking in a breath. “I’ll keep half the clothes and I’ll pay for half of your new stuff. Okay?” 

“And I’m paying half of your stuff,” 

“No,” Dean shoots back. 

“But then I’m costing you more money,” Sam frowns. 

“Well, that’s what happens when you have nice things, Sam, you pay for them,” Dean says, and then he’s back to thinking about Cas and how Cas is a nice thing, and what that’s going to cost him, and whether or not he can afford it. He’s head hurts and he really hates shopping, and he’s lost another battle with Sam but that’s probably part of life, and at least Sam will wind up having something to wear that fits. 

His phone vibrates to signal a return message from Cas, a fairly opaque _yes_ that gives him jack about where Cas’ mood is levelled at. It’s at least not a _fuck off_ , but that’s probably the best thing he can say about it. Sam’s watching him angst over the message like he’s twelve, but at least he’s not saying anything about it. 

“We good?” Dean asks, because he’s exhausted. He’ll have to come back another day to take most of the clothes back, but he can’t do it right now. 

* 

If Cas’ expression is anything to go by, _yes_ actually means that the guy is seriously pissed off, particularly given Dean’s pretty sure he said that he was free for the whole of Sunday and might drop by before he wound up spending the day bickering with Sam at the frigging mall and avoiding everything for a bit longer. He knocks rather than using the key that’s been burning a hole in his pocket, and Cas opens the door with a ‘hello Dean’ that most would interpret as his usual, sardonic greeting. Dean can read the out and out anger bubbling below the surface of the words, though, and the guilt from it makes his chest tighten uncomfortably. 

“Hey,” Dean says, swallowing. Cas is still blocking his path into his apartment, so Dean’s mostly stuck in limbo in the doorway. He gets why, because they both know they can’t put off talking with sex forever, and the longer this goes on the more they’re hurting themselves. “Can I get a coffee?” 

“I’m hungry,” 

“I could cook,” 

“We’re going out,” Cas says. 

“Like a date?” Dean asks, his mouth feeling slightly dry. It probably would have done them good to meet outside the confines of Cas’ apartment at some point, but Dean’s not really sure he knows how to be with Cas in public. He barely knows how to do it in private. 

“No, Dean, like I’m hungry and I have no food, and you implied you would be here this morning and you weren’t,” Cas says, lips pulled into a thin line, “If you are unable to sleep with someone and treat them an ounce of respect then – ” 

“ – where d’you wanna eat?” Dean cuts across him, because the end of that sentence is sure to be sharp enough to cut himself on and he doesn’t really want to fight, and he was sort of hungry anyway. Cas’ expression gives a little and he meets his eye. Dean gives a little shrug he hopes Cas interprets as _I’m really sorry, Cas, please_ , and Cas tilts his head ever so slightly. 

“The diner down the road is fine.” 

“You don’t wanna go anywhere fancy?” 

“No,” Cas says, clearly irritated, “The diner is fine.” 

“You’re kinda moody when you’re hungry, huh?” 

“Dean,” Cas says. 

“All right, angel, let’s go get you a burger,” Dean says, clapping him on the shoulder. It’s the first physical contact he’s gone for, and Cas’ warmth seeps through him. That’s usually where it all goes wrong for the two of them, but he lets the touch linger anyway. “We walking?” 

Cas locks the door and nods, and maybe it will be okay. Maybe they can go to a diner and get a burger and talk and everything will be fine. 

“I was with Sam,” Dean says, “Today, I mean.” 

“I guessed,” Cas says. 

“Should have text you. Hell, should have just come over. But I’m… Sam made me buy new clothes. Bullied me into it.” 

“You look good,” Cas says, straight up. Of all the things that Dean’s been self-conscious about, his appearance has never really been one of them, but Cas’ matter of fact compliment is just... it catches him off guard. Whilst he knows that Cas has got to find him attractive, and Cas might have implied as much when they were screwing around, it’s different in the harsh light of day. He’s actually feels kind of flushed because of it, but he’s hoping Cas hasn’t noticed. 

“Well, thanks Cas, wasn’t really digging for a compliment there but…” 

“I think sparring with Benny and actually sleeping is more beneficial than the new t-shirt, but nevertheless I like it.” 

“Yeah, well, I like your eyes.” 

“What?” Cas asks, turning said eyes on him. He hadn’t actually meant for that last part to come out of his mouth, but he’s not sure he minds too much. 

“What?” Dean throws back, pausing for a second. “Quid pro quo, tit for tat and all that.” 

“You’re serious,” 

“As a heart attack,” Dean grins, and he feels better than he has in days, because conversation with Cas is actually as easy as it’s ever been. “Like the trench coat, too, where is that tonight?” 

“I can go home and retrieve it,” 

“Nah,” Dean says, knocking their arms against each other so that his knuckles brush the back of Cas’ fingers. Cas moves into the movement slightly and it’s half perfect, and Dean might have stopped him to kiss him, but they’re already at the diner and he doesn’t really want an audience. 

He feels like the waitress who brings them over the menus knows they’re on a date (because, yeah, this is a date), and he’s trying not to freak out about it, but mostly he’s just hungry. Food was a good idea. 

The diner is weirdly cold and looks a little seedy, but falling into the old rhythm of things with Cas is reminding him how much he missed it in the first place. Castiel is hilarious and intelligent and _moody._ The cold renders him more useless than normal and Dean grins through Cas’ attempt to flick through the menu with his ‘numb fingers’ feeling much more comfortable, and maybe they’re flirting a little bit more than usual, but otherwise it’s petty much the same as always. He doesn’t know why he thought it would be different but it’s a relief all the same and the relief carries him through the business of ordering on automatic, right until he remembers why they’re here in the first place. 

“We should talk,” Dean says, leaning on his elbows to look at Cas. He looks tired and Dean knows that’s no doubt his fault, but he’s still not entirely sure on how he can fix it. This though, spending actual time with Cas, this he can do. 

“Yes,” Cas says. 

“I don’t even know where to start, man,” Dean says, frowning at him, “Second we started this got messed up.” 

“It was fine until you decided we were already doomed,” Cas says, frowning at him, “I know your life, Dean.” 

“Yeah, well, there’s a difference between taking a viewing and living it,” Dean says, running a hand over his forehead and scowling at the diner table. 

“You holding me at arm’s length doesn’t help, Dean,” Cas sighs, pausing to smile at the waitress when she brings their coffees. It’s one of those forced smiles which involves Cas trying a bit too hard, not the kind he wins sometimes, but it still looks good on him. “I dislike our current situation.” 

“You and me both, buddy,” Dean sighs. Cas has his shoulders hunched up like he’s trying to keep himself warm, but Dean feels too hot and uncomfortable. He knows the place is cooler than it should be, but forcing himself to talk makes it difficult to swallow. “I’ve been freaking out, figured I already screwed this at least six ways and I – ” 

“ – Dean, we need to move on from this,” 

“This,” Dean says, breath hitching, “this is the problem, here. You think you can just call it a new leaf and then forget about it? Life doesn’t work like that, Cas. I’m not still pissed that you punched me in the face, and that you left me and you frigging yelled at me, but that don’t mean I can just forget about it. We can call a do-over and pretend these last couple of weeks never happened, but that doesn’t mean that you don’t know and I don’t know that we messed up. This stuff has consequences, Cas, and I don’t know who’s gonna screw the pooch next… I just, I don’t trust it.” 

“Good things do happen, Dean,” Cas says, blinking at him. 

“Yeah?” Dean asks, “Because from where I’m standing, the world goes round and we just get screwed and dizzy.” 

Cas is shivering slightly thanks to the overactive air con, and Dean has to look away for a moment. It’s about then that the waitress brings them their burgers and Dean’s stomach lurches in a way that’s entirely related to hunger, and not Cas’ slight frown. 

“How do I make it right?” Cas asks. 

“Dude, you got extra cheese?” Dean redirects, because it’s not so much as making something right as making sure it doesn’t happen again, and he doesn’t really know how you do that either. Cas respects his decision to deflect with a slight incline of his head, but he looks slightly sad about it. 

“You were present when I ordered,” 

“Yeah, well, that don’t mean I was listening,” Dean counters, nicking one of Cas’ fries just for the hell of it. 

“Don’t get me wrong here, I want this, Cas, I just don’t see how it’s gonna work.” 

“Have a little faith,” 

“And where’s that supposed to come from? My ‘faith’ dried up years ago, Cas,” Dean says, pressing his lips together. That’s the crux of it, really, because there’s certain things he could do to make this easier. He could, as Charlie suggested, stop keeping his time with Sam and his time with Cas so separated. He’s not mad keen on them getting their freak on with Sam in the apartment, but that doesn’t mean that they can’t all hang out sometimes. Cas could sleep at their’s a couple of times a week, and maybe Dean could schedule with Sam when he’s staying at Cas’ place. If he mentioned it to Ellen she’d probably wordlessly sync up their shifts to make the logistics easier, and maybe they could just about make it work. 

There’s no way in hell it’s gonna be easy, but if they put the work in there’s a chance they might muddle through. Cas shouldn’t be putting up with this kind of crap, but he knew what he was signing up for. 

He’s just not sure he can go there if it’s gonna fail. 

“Have faith in me, Dean,” Cas says, looking up at him over his burger. Cas can cut through him just like Sam can (although not as deep, and not as carelessly), and sometimes he doesn’t know why he’s forgiving him for these stupid things that he does. Cas has issues and picks up on Dean’s issues, and Dean doesn’t really have room to look after anyone else. Cas buys his favourite beer and trusts his words and opinions. He calls Dean out on his bullshit with one those frowns but lets him get away with it anyway. He has the patience of a freaking saint, with a side of anger issues, and he pushed Dean into living again. Sure, Dean put in some of the work, but Cas pulled him right out of hell. 

“Dude, you’re shivering,” Dean says, because it’s distracting. 

“It’s cold.” 

“The one time you forget your damn coat,” Dean says, shrugging off his jacket and swallowing, because the gesture means something and they both know it. He slides his jacket over the table and nods towards it. The corners of Cas’ lips twist upward and Dean takes another bite of his burger, because they might be having a moment but he’s also damned hungry. “And it’s not that cold, you baby.” 

Cas looks frigging ridiculous wearing his jacket and scowling at him. 

“I can try,” Dean says, “The faith thing, but…it’s not enough, Cas, what do you want from me?” He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, watching him. “How do I make it right?” He’s once again parroting Cas’ words straight back at him, only Cas does him the decency of actually replying; Cas had an answer, though, whilst Dean is still trying to his work out. Maybe he will at some point. 

“I want to come over and watch a movie with you and Sam,” 

“That’s easy enough,” 

“I’m not trying to make your life difficult,” Cas says, taking another bite of his burger. He looks like he’s partially offended by the idea that Dean would think he was trying to be obstinate on purpose, but Dean has sole guardianship of a sixteen year old so it’s not out of his usual realms of possibility. He feels like Sam spends equal amounts of his time making his life easier as he does being a pain in the ass, and it’s difficult to know what to expect. 

“You any good at video games?” Dean asks, “I’m thinking about trying to teach Charlie a few new moves.” Cas looks like he finds the all the words that just came out of Dean’s mouth utterly baffling, and tilts his head at him. “Dude, Charlie’s been backseat driving me on this since she got wind of how hopeless I am, she wants to hang out and embarrass me and stuff.” 

“You told Charlie?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, frowning, “That a problem?” 

“I wasn’t aware that anyone knew.” 

It takes Dean a couple of minutes to put a few things together and have an actual reaction, and that’s when he feels like kicking himself all over again; he hadn’t really thought about any of this from Cas’ angle, and all the reasons why they should have talked about this are being reinforced. He’s been keeping Sam and Cas separate and not staying the night, and Dean hadn’t even outright said that there was this possibility that he liked men (particularly cowboys and Dr Sexy), partially because he’s still sort of figuring that one out, and because it doesn’t come up in conversation that often. Even when you’re screwing around with someone, and it’s not like Cas ever asked. 

“Wait, you thought I was gonna keep this on the down low?” Dean asks. “Pretend like we’re not fucking when we’re with other people? And you were okay with that? And you lecture me on having self-respect. Jesus. Yeah, Cas, maybe this is kinda new to me. Apparently, I’m bisexual,” Dean continues. It’s the first time he’s used the word out loud, even though Charlie threw it round once or twice on tequila night, and it sticks in his throat a little, “Which, yeah, bit of a revelation. But that doesn’t mean I’m a total douchebag.” 

“Dean, sexuality –” 

“ – Sam asked me about it the minute like five minutes before I went back to yours that Sunday. We’d already kinda talked about it before. Near enough, I mean. He was chewing me out about being a jerk to you at the mall, earlier. He wants you to come over, I was just putting off because well, I was freaking out. Ain’t nothing to do with sexuality.” 

Cas is staring at him like this is news, so he carries talking. Apparently a lack of talking got them into this situation in the first place, so he figures if he just says all the world that he can think of they might get out of it. 

“Maybe I haven’t made a national announcement about it, but I figured we could use a bit of time and, hell, nearly everyone knows anyway. Jo, well, I was kind of in a bad mood when I went to go pick her up and she made up some comment about a hot date. Don’t think I mentioned any kind of gender, but pretty sure she worked it out when we weird at the Roadhouse. Ellen’s been pretty worried about me, and she ain’t blind so she’ll have figured something out. And she’ll have talked to Bobby and Pam, because my whole damn family are interfering busybodies.” He pauses to take a breath. “Charlie asked me bout you like a month ago, and I bought it up again a few weeks back and she hasn’t dropped it since. Even kinda came out to Benny, which was sort of weird, and he wants to meet you, ‘cept I don’t know how that would go down. Can’t see that you two’d have anything to talk about. Don’t really have any other friends, cept Ash I suppose, and he’s too drunk to care most of the time. Want me to call up Gordon Walker and tell him I like men too now, or are we good?” 

Cas doesn’t respond. It’s probably fair enough, considering Dean thinks he possible crossed the boundary between proving his point and into the realms of laying into the guy, when all he really did was pull together a reasonable conclusion from the limited information Dean had given him. 

“Don’t sell yourself short, Cas,” Dean continues, knuckles clenched on top of the table, “And don’t throw your lot in with some guy who you thinks gonna hide you from his family. And quit thinking I’m not serious about this, too, you’re not some, I dunno, experiment or whatever crap it is you think. I didn’t frigging kiss you to try and make you stay, and I didn’t sleep with you to run off the next morning. I said I’m in and I’m in. Quit thinking I’m doing this on a whim and making yourself a martyr about it, it’s insulting and it’s annoying.” 

“Are you finished?” 

“No,” Dean says, but he shuts up any way. His burger is partially cold which has never happened to him a diner before, and their conversation has been enough to attract the attention of a couple of teenage eavesdroppers. Dean flushes and glares at them for a moment before picking up his burger again. He’s never had an outsider know about the fact that he likes guys before, and they’re probably only listening because it’s clearly a lover’s spat and not because it’s a gay thing, but it makes him uncomfortable anyway. 

“I can’t read your mind, Dean,” 

“Well, right back at you, pal.” 

“Clearly we need to work on our communication,” 

“Right, what you said,” Dean says, turning back to his burger. 

“I apologise for underestimating you,” Cas says. 

“Balthadouche was a closet case, right?” Dean asks, reading the answer in the twist of Cas’ lips. His relationship experience stretches to just about nothing, but he gets how something like that might leave its imprints in your expectations. Burger now finished, he stretches his hand a little further across the table, still folded into a fist but just about within touching distance. “Figures. You warmer now, or you want me to ask them to turn the AC down a notch?” 

“I’m fine,” Cas says. 

“I’ll say,” Dean quips back, because he’s a jerk like that. “Reckon they have pie? I could go for some pie.” 

“I’m led to believe you could always go for pie,” 

“Hell yeah,” Dean says, and then he realises that, at some point, Cas had met his half-hearted hand motion in the middle. They’re not holding hands or anywhere close, but their fists are touching in the middle of the table, knuckles almost interlocked. “What are we fist bumping now?” 

Cas is sat there with his shoulders hunched up in Dean’s leather jacket looking down at his hand like he has absolutely no idea how it got there (and Dean doesn’t buy that for a second). Even though they’ve spent it hashing things out and occasionally getting kinda prissy about each other, Dean’s struck by the realisation that this is the best frigging date he’s ever gone on. It doesn’t make any kind of academic sense, because they’re still in a pretty bad place and Dean’s fully planning on taking him back to his apartment to watch crap reality TV with his brother, so it’s not like he’s even gonna get lucky at the end of it… but he feels pretty damn lucky, all things considered, and that’s not a feeling he gets all that often. 

Cas is asking the nice waitress about pie and suddenly he doesn’t want to be in this diner for a second long than he has to be. Right here, Dean doesn’t feel like he can act on every impulse he has to reach out and make physical contact, and he’s too far away on the other side of the table. There’s too many eyes in the diner and, yeah, as much as he’s not planning on hiding this… he can’t quite claim to be comfortable with it just yet. 

“Actually, rain check on the pie,” Dean interrupts, “Been kind of tired all week, could use an early night,” He tells Cas’ questioning look, making a motion to shove his hands in his pocket before realising that his wallet’s in the jacket Cas’ wearing, “Just the bill.” 

Cas, at least, doesn’t make any complaint about them going Dutch, probably because he knows Dean wouldn’t have it any way. He dutifully counts out the bills from Dean’s wallet before turning to his own, and Dean feels another spark of relief. He hadn’t even realised that he was concerned about how they were going to cut up this dating thing financially, and the knowledge that there going at it at equals bleeds a little more tension out of his shoulders. Fuck. 

When Cas keeps his distance as they head out, Dean begins to realise that that communication thing might be coming to bite him in the ass again. He can read the unhappy angle of Cas’ shoulder even though the extra padding of his leather jacket which means, of course, Cas doesn’t get it. 

“So, what film were you thinking?” Dean asks, falling in line with him and engineering it so their fingers touch when he nudges his shoulder. Cas stares at him, still blank. “Sam likes girly movies and action flicks, but I’m sure he’ll let you pick whatever. Could even drag Indiana Jones out if you’re up for it.” 

Cas cups his face and kisses him in the middle of the street, and Dean decides that anyone who cares can go screw themselves. 

* 

When they get through the door (which might have taken a bit longer than he probably should have, because Cas hasn’t been in his Impala since they started their thing and Dean didn’t realise how distracting it would be), Sam’s curled up on the sofa reading Slaughterhouse Five. He looks up at the side of the door and balks for a second, then starts grinning when he processes that Cas is with him and wearing his jacket. 

“Put the book down and budge up, Sammy, we’re watching a movie.” 

“You’ve cheered up.” 

“Date night,” Dean throws back, “Ate burgers, talked about our feelings; it was awesome.” 

“That’s okay,” Sam says, “You just keep using sarcasm to cover up how you really feel.” 

“Yeah, hilarious,” Dean shoots back, falling into the armchair. Sam’s already on the sofa and he figures it would be kind of weird for them to take the sofa whilst Cas is separate on the armchair, but then he’s not quite ready to make a point of kicking Sam off the sofa to make way for him and Cas. “Pick something decent, Cas, or I’ll disown you.” 

“Don’t worry, Cas, he doesn’t mean it,” Sam calls out, “He’s been threatening to disown me for years.” 

“Still might, bitch.” 

“Jerk.” 

Cas picks out one of their versions of Dracula, which isn’t quite what he was expecting but he’s pretty down with. Cas probably hasn’t watched it, hermit that he is, and if the easy chatter and soft atmosphere is anything to judge it by, he’d probably be happy watching Mean Girls. 

Sam decides to hit the hay forty five minutes in, but it’s long enough to serve as proof that Dean’s been pretty open about this to Sam, at least in a non-explicit, non-feeling-talk sort of way. Every time he glances at Cas the guy looks more relaxed so, yeah, it’s actually kind of awesome to fit the two pieces of life back together and let them coexist. He can breathe again. The exhaustion is slipping away to a heavy warmth which might just be being relaxed, for once, and he’s okay 

“Either of you want a beer before I go?” Sam asks, yawning. 

“I’ll get them,” Cas says, his voice all deep and gravelly and awesome. 

“Night, bitch,” Dean says, holding up a hand in a wave, “We’ll try and keep it down.” 

“Gross,” 

“I meant the film,” Dean grins, “but that, too.” 

“Whatever,” Sam mutters, but he’s half grinning and half grimacing. He likes having Cas and Sam in the same room and exchanging conversation like they’ve been doing it their whole lives, and it’s all more natural than he thought possible a couple of hours ago. 

Sammy talks to Cas in the kitchen briefly whilst Dean turns the film up to piss Sam off. He leaves with a stream of swear words as Cas renters the room, beer in hand… which makes Cas one of the best people alive. 

Except, instead of returning to his seat on the sofa, he’s heading towards Dean’s armchair. Cas crawls into his lap, facing him, knees apart. 

“Hey there,” Dean grins. 

“Was that so hard?” 

“You’re asking me to make a joke, there,” Dean says, hands finding that spot they like on Cas’ hips. “It’s practically required.” 

Cas smiles at him, then the expression freezes for a second. 

“What are your plans for the future, Dean?” 

It’s a pretty raw question after everything and a reminder of the first time things stated going wrong between them, and it fizzles in the expanse of space a little too electric. Dean swallows and Cas’ gaze tracks the movement, and Dean’s watching Cas’ pupils and they’re too close, every motion between them caught up in some kind of feedback loop. This close, he’s sure Cas would be able to tell if he’s lying. 

He has a right to lie, because last time Dean answered that question truthfully Cas hit him, and it’s not like he has a much better answer now… it would be easier just to lie. Cas wouldn’t push it. He’d be left with the sour after taste of selling them too short and he’s working out whether it’s worth it, when he has Cas’ voice from before pressing in saying ‘have faith in me, Dean.’ Have faith. 

“I don’t know,” 

The future is still a pretty terrifying concept and he doesn’t have a clue. He can’t go promising he’s not gonna make good on his younger self’s plan, or that he’ll keep pulling himself out of his rut, or that he won’t just follow Sam to college and push him till he snaps and sends him away, because he just doesn’t know. He might be cursed, or he might just be unlucky, and he might just make it out of Kansas more or less okay. He doesn’t know. No promises. 

His hand reaches up to Cas without him really meaning it to, thumb edging across the rough edge of his jaw, before tracing his bottom lip. Neither of them blink or move for a clandestine second, and it’s just blue gaze on green. 

“Stay,” Dean says, only it comes out more like a prayer. He coughs round the moment and tags on “Tonight, you should stay tonight” as an afterthought, to defuse some of the depth. He can still feel it right down to his bones, though, and Cas isn’t fooled any. 

Cas’ lips stretch into one of those rare full blown smiles. 

“Of course, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo we're kind of getting to like an endy type thing... not quite. Still Cas' family stuffs and then a few tiny bits after that, but we're kind of getting there!


	28. Chapter 28

It’s been Sam’s job to wake him up ever since Dean’s schedule meant that motivation was necessary for him to actually regain consciousness (particularly when Dean had probably only had a few hours’ sleep beforehand), with Dean left to rely on mobile alarms and his bodies inability to relax for more than a few hours at a time at the weekends. Things have been a little more disrupted over the summer, where Dean doesn’t see the point of Sam needlessly waking up early, but Sam’s got the earlier shift this particular Monday and, besides, they have a running date. 

He chooses to wake him through a knock on the door rather than barging straight in like he normally would, which means he probably got the memo that Cas was staying over. Or else, he didn’t hear him leave last night and figured he wouldn’t take the chance of walking in and getting an eyeful of Cas’ junk (not that that’s within the realm of possibility because, for one, Dean’s not about to push things the first time Cas stayed over with Sam next door and, more to the point, Dean forced the guy into a pair of Dean’s sweats before they went to bed; he wants Cas to be a semi-frequent visitor, and that’ll be much smoother if they can all get by without any awkward moments of nudity). The rap of knuckles on wood is more than enough to jerk him back into wakefulness, but Cas doesn’t even twitch. 

Dean could potentially wake Cas up to tell him he’s going for a run with Sam, and maybe invite him along, but he’d rather have a minute to talk to Sam and leave him sleeping. There’s still the possibility for misinterpretation, but there’s a difference to waking up alone in your own apartment after sleeping with someone for the first time when you don’t know where the hell you stand, and waking up alone in someone else’s apartment after your first official sexless-sleepover when you’ve got verbal conformation of actual feelings and stayed up half the night talking. So, yeah, he’s not so worried. 

He closes the door after he slips out of his bedroom, anyway, because if this is going to work he wants to be pretty careful about boundaries, at least to begin with. Sam isn’t a precious princess who’s going to pitch a fit about his guardian’s new boyfriend, but there’s still some complicated ground to cover. It’s all off because Dean is sort of Sam’s parents and brother (and best friend) rolled into one, and it’s not like Cas is going to fill any of those other rolls in Sam’s life, but he is Dean’s something or other and that changes things. 

“Cas staying for breakfast?” Sam asks, smiling slightly. 

“He better,” Dean says, pulling on his trainers. “Let’s his the road, Sammy.” 

He waits till after they’ve mostly warmed up and settled into a gentle pace (Sam’s the one who insists on things like warming up and warming down, whilst Dean’s more likely to just throw himself in and scoff at him, before regretting it the next day; they work well together), before he brings it up. Running isn’t the best time to talk or anything, but he’s not in work till eleven and Cas is at a bit of a loose end until school starts back (which is only like a week, but still), which means Dean actually has a chance to hang out with Cas for most of the morning. If the guy ever gets up. 

“So,” Dean says, between breaths, “Guessing from all the cheerleading, you’re okay with me and Cas?” 

“Duh,” Sam says, and the I’m-currently-running-bitchface is probably one of Dean’s favourite, because it’s just so frigging ridiculous. “I’ve known Cas is in love with you since, like, the second time I met him.” Dean is half curious and half wants him to shut up, because he does not need to discuss how he _feels_ with Sam, particularly when he doesn’t even know any more, so he settles for a grimace which probably looks even more ridiculous than Sam’s running bitchface. “He looks at you like –” 

“– all right, Wordsworth, no poetry.” 

“I just mean it’s obvious,” Sam says, “I called him out on it before he started giving you French lessons.” 

“What?” Dean asks, stopping short. The bit where you start running after you’ve stopped is rarely any fun, but there’s a big difference between Sam abstractly knowing that Cas is into him and the two of them having real life conversations about it, especially when Sam is talking _months_ ago. It’s worth stopping for.“And you didn’t think to, I dunno, mention this to me?” 

“It wouldn’t have helped,” Sam counters, pausing too, “I figured you’d get there in your own time.” 

“Really,” Dean says, flatly. He has images of Sam and Jo getting together to lay bets on his sexuality, and he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like the idea of Sam talking to Cas about this, either, because it feels very close to a betrayal of trust. 

“I didn’t say you liked him back,” Sam says, “I said you were in a pretty bad place.” 

“Great,” Dean says, breaking back into a run (and upping the pace, too) in order to put a little space between him and this conversation. 

“Come on,” Sam says, catching up with him. Sam’s legs are probably longer than his now, bizarre at is, even if his body hasn’t quite caught up with his growth spurt. “Dean, I didn’t even say that you probably weren’t straight, and he didn’t ask. I just…” 

“That I’m _probably_ not straight. How d'you work that out?" Sam bitchfaces at him. "I'm serious, Sam, you lay your money on this I wanna know where you're getting your data." “Dean you…” Sam begins, sighing, “Dean, you’re kinda obvious. Your crush on Dr Sexy is pretty difficult to miss. Han Solo? It’s like, I don’t know, super heroes and rebels without a cuase. You described Cas as like… a bad ass nerd, and that’s like type A Dean Winchester’s type, and I just… look, even Dad knew.” 

“ _What?_ ” 

“Well, I’m pretty sure he did,” Sam says, quickly, “He used to give me these looks. I… he didn’t care, pretty sure, he just… well, he was Dad, you know? It wasn’t the biggest issues at hand, so he probably figured you’d just deal with it.” 

Dean feels like his lungs have been vacuumed packed; he’s all out of oxygen and not because of the running. Yeah, he’d more or less known about the Dr Sexy thing and the Han Solo thing (although he’d mostly cut off any thoughts that went down that direction, because reasons), but that didn’t mean he’d thought it was obvious. He’d been working under the assumption that just because he could appreciate certain guys, aesthetically, didn’t mean he’d ever want to sleep with one, or date one. Plus, most of his male pin-ups were fictional and not at all like Dean’s conception of men-who-liked-men, so it was kinda….irrelevant, in a sense…. But he’s sure part of the reason he’d written off all those avenues was because he wasn’t sure what John Winchester would have said about it, which meant it was probably for the best that John Winchester didn’t know about it…. Except, according to Sam, he did. 

“He’d have been okay with this,” Sam says. They’ve slowed down again, but they haven’t quite stopped. “Of all of it. He…. He’d have been proud of you.” 

“Sam,” Dean grimaces. 

“No, I’m serious,” Sam says, “We have a good life, now. You did that. You’re looking after me like he wanted. We’re all safe. It’s good. Really good.” 

“This isn’t what I wanted to talk about,” Dean frowns, swallowing. He takes a second to refill his lungs, but the air suddenly feels different. He actually feels weirdly euphoric, because he’s been chasing his Dad’s approval since the off and…. But maybe what he really wanted was Sam’s approval, and he has it right there. He’s not a hundred percent that John Winchester would have approved of Cas, but at least he’d never screamed at him for looking at a guy’s ass too long, which apparently he’d noticed. Maybe he would have done at some point, but on the scale of keeping Sammy fed to everything else, John hadn’t thought it was worth mentioning; that’s approval enough. “S’it okay if Cas stays over a couple of times a week?” 

“You don’t have to ask to have your friends over, Dean.” Sam says, throwing Dean’s words back at him with a smug expression. Dean purses his lips and takes the opportunity to elbow him. 

“Smart ass,” Dean shoots back, “I’m thinking ‘bout piecing together some kind of schedule, with Cas staying here like… two nights a week? And then I’ll crash at his one night. So it’s not…” 

“Wow, a schedule.” 

“I’m serious,” Dean says, “You don’t need some strange dude showing up at our apartment unannounced.” 

“Cas _is_ pretty strange,” 

“And I’m a-okaying with the CPS,” Dean says, “Don’t give me that look, Sam. You’re old enough that we could get you declared an emancipated teen if it’s necessary, but that paperwork was a bitch the first time. Till you’re a bona fide adult, we keep sucking up. And that involves letting them know that a skinny guy in a trench coat stays at ours sometimes before they meet him when they show up for a check-up.” 

“I don’t mind,” Sam says, “He can stay whenever he wants.” 

“Maybe you don’t mind right now,” Dean says, “But you gotta promise that you’ll tell me if that changes. We’re keeping an open dialogue about this. You’re my top priority, here, and I’m just trying to do this right.” 

“It’s not necessary,” 

“Yeah, well, it’ll help me sleep at night,” Dean says, pausing. They’ve completed their usual circuit, if slower than normal so they can talk (there not so much running as jogging at this point, and as a result he’s barely broken a sweat). “I’m gonna go for another loop.” 

“I’m heading back up,” Sam says. 

“Put some sausages on after you’ve showered,” Dean throws back, “Today, we breakfast in style.” 

He ends up taking a different route as he doesn’t want to completely miss Sam before he heads to work, but he pushes himself into running slightly faster than the pace Sam usually he sets. He feels good. Having a plan is infinitely better than just winging it and seeing, and as much as it still has the chance of falling apart and crumbling, he’s half sure that it’ll be enough. Apparently the fact that he’s a little bit gay is a lot more obvious than he previously though, and maybe he’s not mad thrilled that Cas and Sam have been talking about him, but it might have been useful in the long run. At least they get on, cause Dean’s pretty sure that Sam not liking him would have been the final nail in the coffin, because there’d just be no way to make it work. 

By the time he’s back at the apartment, he’s pushed himself further than he has in about a year. He’s pretty sweaty and gross, but it’s probably the best morning he can ever remember having in eons, and he hasn’t had breakfast yet. He has a few hours of Cas to look forward to before work and later Sam’s having his friends over again, so Dean’s gonna get about five minutes to tease Sam about Becky in front of the others, which he’s really looking forward to. 

“I’ll go wake Cas up,” Dean says, as Sam starts the bacon. Breakfast isn’t usually anything beyond toast, but the growth spurt has turned Sam into a bottomless pit with two hollow legs and, besides, today is kind of special. 

He’s pretty tempted to wake Cas up by throwing his sweaty t-shirt at him, because he’s a jerk and he’s sure it’d be hilarious, but he opts instead for flopping most of his weight down onto the bed and grinning at the grumpy lump that is Cas when he turns to face him. He has a bewildered sort of look which Dean is pretty gutted he missed those mornings before, but the blue quickly focuses and hones in on Dean, his grin, and his t-shirt. 

He doesn’t feel tired today. The hopes back and catching, fast, to the point where he honest to god believes in it. 

“You’ve been running,” 

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, because he has and apparently Cas is slightly slow when he’s just woken up. He has those blue eyes piercing through him and into his skull, before they take a moment to track over his shoulders and his chest. No one exactly looks their best after they’ve been running, and the scrutiny is sort of making him uncomfortable. 

“Breakfast in five.” 

“You should get changed,” Cas says, rising to meet him and then going for the skin under his t-shirt, hands sliding up his torso and upwards, bringing the t-shirt with him. Dean holds his arms up obligingly so Cas can finish pulling it off, and the second he’s free he has Cas kissing him in that pushy, incessant way of his that Dean’s definitely not complaining about. 

“Breakfast is shirts required,” Dean says, pulling back enough to get a read of Cas’ face, “Sorry, dude.” 

“I still have four minutes,” 

He lets himself be dragged back into the kiss for a solid minute, before he calls time and makes Cas get the hell out of bed. Mostly because he can smell bacon and eggs, but also because he knows that Sam is just beyond the doorway, and having Sam and Cas is a balancing act that’s gonna require a fair amount of juggling. He doesn’t wanna drop the ball too soon, on either account. 

It takes a few minutes after Cas has emerged from Dean’s bedroom dressed enough that Dean deems him passable (although, seriously, Cas’ bedhead is downright obscene) before Cas registers the time. 

“It’s seven thirty,” Cas says over a cup of coffee, disapproval evident in every single line of his face. 

“Family breakfast,” Dean grins, taking Cas’ distraction as an invitation to steal some of his bacon. “Sam cooked.” 

“Thank you, Sam,” 

Sam looks like he’s holding back a laugh at how downright insincere that sounded, but he manages not to. His expression is angled softer than normal when he glances at Dean, and Dean looks away before Sam can start dissecting his use of the word family, because that’s totally not what he meant. v“He’s working the eight till two shift,” 

“After breakfast I wish to go back to sleep.” 

“Sure, Cas, after Sam leaves we’ll head back to bed,” Dean says, taking the opportunity for a wink and a grin. The tiniest smile pulls at the corner of Cas’ lips as a result (all his normal facial expressions are like ten percent moodier without the addition of coffee, to the point where it’s actually interesting to watch as the caffeine kicks in), and Sam is doing a good attempt at pretending not to be amused. So, yeah, Dean could pretty much get used to this for the rest of forever. 

“I take it back,” Sam cuts in, forkful of sausage suspended half an inch from his mouth, “Cas isn’t allowed to say here two nights a week unless you promise not to make sex jokes.” 

“Shouldn’t you be blow drying your hair or something?” Dean shoots back, because he hasn’t mentioned the schedule thing to Cas yet. Whilst he’s pretty sure Cas isn’t going to turn down the proposal, he’s pretty sure it should come from him rather than his kid brother. He waits a beat for Sam to roll his eyes and get back to his food, before “Enjoying your sausage, Sam?” 

Sam doesn’t quite choke. 

“You suck,” 

“Accurate,” 

“ _Dean!_ ” 

“All right, all right, I’m done. You need me to pick up anything for you and your friends later?” 

“Nah,” Sam says, “You’re working…?” 

“Eleven till six and eight till two,” Dean says, “Cas you’re on….what, six till twelve?” 

“I don’t know how you function,” Cas says, turning to meet his gaze straight on. Dean’s pretty sure the mention of Cas sleeping here two nights a week hasn’t been forgotten, but they’ve at least moved on for now. 

“One of life’s great mysteries,” Sam says, standing, “Better head off. See you, guys.” 

Dean waits until they’ve eaten breakfast in relative quiet until he bothers trying for conversation again. 

“So you wannna go back to bed,” Dean says, watching as Cas’ fingers curl around his coffee cup with a slight smile. A proper breakfast is not quite wasted on Cas right after he’s just got up, but Dean’s pretty sure he helped himself to most of Cas’ food. “I could use a shower… sure you don’t wanna join?” 

Cas sets down his coffee cup and smiles. 

(They wind up in bed rather than the shower, because apparently Cas is more persuasive and always gets his way, but Dean’s not complaining too much). 

* 

The second time Dean wakes on Monday morning, he’s only dozed for a few minutes and nothing’s waking him up except his own body clock, which is kind of confused that he’s not working right now. As much as Dean likes the idea of a semi-indulgent morning spent with Cas curled around him like a cat in theory (yeah, Dean called it, Cas is a cuddler), in the harsh light of morning he knows he’s got stuff to do, and the awareness of it as an itch it’s hard not to scratch. 

He gives himself a few minutes before he drags himself up again and heads to the dishes, pausing to find his Dad’s leather journal and his cell, so he can sort this stuff out once and for all. He spends a few minutes going over his list of options before he decided to call Tessa, who’d been on his case before she’d ever been on Sam’s. 

Dean’s pretty sure he was one of the first files to land on her desk and he stuck in the back of her mind as a matter of sentiment, because Tessa’s the only one in the whole damn CPS who seems to give a shit about him. She was on board with Sam staying with him from the off, whilst everyone else had to be talked into agreeing. 

So, yeah, Tessa’s the right person to talk to. 

She doesn’t answer straight away but calls him back before he’s finished scrubbing the frying pan, and her familiar voice is a stark relief after the last four CPS people he dealt with. In theory, he knows they’re approximating at doing the right thing, and on paper he’s a twenty two year old with a less than stellar record and a series of not-quite-minimum-wage-jobs, but that doesn’t mean their disapproval sucks any less. The fact that he can’t write them off as interfering busybodies like Dad did is just another damnation. 

“Tessa,” Dean grins, wedging the phone between his shoulder and his ear, “Just the girl I wanted to speak to.” 

Tessa’s obviously concerned when she shoots back her “What can I do for you, Dean?” because people rarely call the CPS with good news, so it’s nice that he can call about something that doesn’t make him want to gouge his eyes out. Technically, this whole thing is unnecessary, but Tessa is pretty good about the whole phone call, even though it’s ninety percent a waste of time. They’ve just gone through the whole thing about how Cas is a guy (awkward) and that he’s known him for a long enough time that he’s reasonable sure he’s not a serial killer or a paedophile and that, no, they’re not getting frigging _married_ (Tessa laughs outright and asks for an invitation to the wedding), and that he has zero plans of asking Cas to live with them any time in the near future. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, balancing the last of the plates in the drying wrack, “So I was thinking working out some kind of schedule, with Cas staying over maybe two nights a week, tops. I don’t wanna leave Sam alone, obviously, but it makes things kinda complicated. Just wanted to clear with you that that isn’t something that can get Sam repossessed or whatever.” 

Tessa’s telling him that it should be fine and that she thinks he’s being pretty mature about the whole thing (which is a new one from a member of the CPS, but then Tessa knew him when he was still a teenager and he _is_ mature compared to them), but Dean’s distracted by the fact that Cas is remerging from the bedroom and squinting at him. 

“Routine is supposed to be good for teenagers or something,” Dean continues, “That’s what you lot keep trying to tell me, anyway….” Cas is crossing the kitchen and wordlessly beginning to put away the plates, even though they’re still slightly damp. Dean’s half caught up in the fact that he could totally dig the domestic stuff, but Tessa’s still talking. “Yeah, that should be okay wait… I’ll just ask. Cas, s’ll aright if the CPS check you’re not only interested in me for my sixteen year old brother?” 

“Yes,” 

“Go ahead. Castiel Novak…. That’s a good question but, yeah, pretty sure I can spell it…” Cas makes a point of boxing Dean up against the kitchen counter whilst he spells out his name, trapping him between his arms and glancing up at with wide eyes. “Two fixed nights a week,” Dean answers the next question, staring straight back at Cas, “Haven’t worked those out yet. Do I need to call and say when? Okay, well, thanks Tessa. You’re an angel.” For a few long seconds, they just keep staring at each other, before Dean registers he’s still holding his phone to his ear like an idiot, even though Tessa hung up. He half coughs and sets the phone down on the side, swallowing. “Tessa’s gonna call me when she’s done the background check,” Dean says, throat thick. 

As much as Cas had been obliging in ignoring Sam’s outburst over breakfast, he’s pretty sure Cas isn’t going to ignore the two-nights-a-week thing for a second time. Considering yesterday he was one foot out of this whole relationship idea, he’s pretty sure this sudden switch to taking this whole thing seriously has got to be pretty jarring, but Cas is looking at him like he gets it. 

“Sundays and Tuesdays,” Cas says. 

“I’ll stay at yours Thursdays?” 

“Yes,” Cas says, stumbling forward against his chest, and Dean’s arms wrap around his back on automatic, and they’re pressed together, just looking at each other. Dean’s never had a relationship outside of high school (and he wasn’t at high school for a particularly long length of time, either), and he has no idea how any of it works… but this, right here, feels a turning point. He’s not sure he’s cut out to make it work long term, but they’re forging something out of the materials they’ve got available. 

“Good,” Dean says, closing his eyes and pulling Cas in tighter. Not that he’d admit it to anyone, but there’s something about the kind of intimate, quasi-affectionate body contact that’s devoid of any sexual intent that knocks him for six. The fact that after all the bullshit he’s pulled over his life there’s someone who wants to touch him is pretty remarkable, so the fact that Cas is content to cling to him in the kitchen is akin to miraculous. He’d like to drag it out all day, but his eleven thirty work deadline is heavy at the back of his mind, and he really does need that shower. “Bout that shower…” Dean says, pressing his lips together. 

“I believe you previously said, I’m in if you’re in.” 

If he speeds all the way and doesn’t hit a single red light, he can drop Cas off at his place and get to the diner on time, with a twenty minute shower window still remaining. The odds of the timing working out are pretty limited, but he’s struggling to work out which part of him is supposed to actually care. 

“Oh, I’m in,” Dean grins, tightening his grip on Cas’ hip. 

He is only five minutes late to work, which isn’t too bad all things considered. 

* 

It’s a few days till school starts back up (and Dean’s back at college like the week after that), and the anniversary of John Winchesters death falls on Wednesday, so Sam’s sticking to Dean’s side as far as possible, up to the point where he’s hanging around the Roadhouse like a bad smell whilst Dean’s on shift. Jo’s around and Ellen is somewhere, so it’s a regular family reunion, and they’re all aware of the approaching date and are acting forcefully cheery to compensate, and it’s almost exhausting. Dean’s coming up with a blank as far as having any kind of feelings about the date, so he feels like he’s the only one not putting in an effort. It’s weird. 

“Dude, I swear, my legs are _aching_ like a mofo,” Dean complains, making a contrived effort to lean his weight against the bar rather than his legs. Mostly, he’s pretty used to the strain of spending at least ten hours of the day on his feet, and it only bothers him if he takes a few days off, when he’s reminded how the first time he worked a six hour shifts his legged ached the day after with renewed (but muted) pains. Today, though, the muscles in the back of his legs have been protesting since he sat down for his fifteen minute lunch break, and it sucks. 

“You were running for a while,” Sam shrugs, “You at least cool down? Stretch?” 

“Does sex count?” Dean asks, after a few seconds considering the matter. It’s mostly to mess with Sam rather than anything else, but Sam’s so happy that Dean has an actual life now that he smiles on reflex before considering the fact that him and Cas probably did go at it the second he left for work, when his expression sours. It’s comedy gold, watching Sam, and he’s been thoroughly enjoying it. 

“No,” 

“So you managed to reschedule before the fifth of never then?” Jo asks, swooping into the conversation with well practice eased. Jo is good at worming her way into conversations that she wants to be involved in, always has been. 

“And pencilled in the diary for the rest of forever,” Sam cuts in, before Dean has a chance to decide whether to fob her off with some flimsy line or hazard at the truth. Sam’s been doing his best to tease him about the whole schedule thing whilst trying to convince him it’s not necessary, but Cas is down with it and it makes him feel better; he feels like he’s regained the control that he’s lost in virtue of having all these feelings in the first place and, anyway, now he’s not so worried things are going to collapse at any second. 

“Do I know her?” 

“Eh,” Dean shrugs, pursing his lips slightly. 

“Oh come on, Dean. You can’t go all cartoon hearts and promise rings then back out whenever anyone asks about it, I’m getting whiplash over here.” 

“Who gave you coffee?” Dean asks, “It’s like eight PM, Sam.” 

“Jesus,” Jo says, “Tight leash there, Dean. And don’t change the subject!” 

“Ain’t no one wearing a frigging promise ring,” 

“You’re missing the point,” Sam says, “Don’t you think you’re being unfair. Not telling anyone about… them.” 

Dean’s grinning at the moment Sam realised he was about to slip up on the pronoun and changed course, because his discomfort is much greater than Dean’s at this point. It’s actually a pretty nice to place to be. If he’d have thought about the concept of ‘coming out’ or whatever before, he’d have thought it would be more traumatic than it feels like it is. His family’s gone through enough crap that he knows full well they couldn’t care less who he sleeps with, provided it’s no longer a form of self-destruction. 

“And you think telling everyone without asking is better?” 

“… They wouldn’t mind,” Sam says, his mouth forming round the word awkwardly. He glances at Jo as if he’s aware his unwillingness to out him might have made it all the more obvious, but Jo is just looking at them like they’re both crazy. 

“And you’d know?” 

“Yes,” Sam says, “I know h… oh, shut up.” 

“No, please, I’m enjoying this,” Dean grins, leaning forwards on the bar and swiping his brother’s coffee, which is both too sweet and too milky and very much contraband (Sam is sixteen; he does not need to be drinking coffee after six PM). It’s five to eight, which means Cas is due to walk through the door any minute to start his shift, at which point he’ll be free of Jo and her questions. He’s not completely sure he wants to get out of this unscathed, though, because he’s sure Jo’s half way there herself. “Hey Cas,” Dean calls out as Cas appears, right on schedule, trench coat folded over his arm. 

The lack of coat is enough that Cas’ throat is exposed, including the marks Dean sucked into Cas’ shoulder when he was feeling particularly obnoxious and optimistic in the shower yesterday. It looks vaguely like Cas might have made an attempt at covering them up with some kind of make up before giving up completely and not even bothering to wear something with a higher collar, and Dean’s not sure which part of the whole thing amuses him more (probably that Cas hadn’t realised what he’d done till late Monday afternoon when he’d gotten a text message reading _assbutt!_ half way through his shift at Pam’s). 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, as Sam sends him a disapproving look (there’s amusement, there, too). 

Jo drops the glass she’s holding. 

“You okay there, Joanna?” Dean asks, looking towards her with a grin. 

“Seriously?” Jo asks. 

“Better clean that up before you clock off,” Dean says. Jo elbows him, hard, on her way to grabbing the dustpan and brush, which he probably deserves and makes him smile wider. He’s not used to all this smiling, actually, be he’s been in a permanent good mood since Sunday. It’s probably not going to last, what with the anniversary tomorrow; and he has no idea whether it feels like more or less than a year than since John Winchester died, or whether or not things would be better or worse if he was here right now (and doesn’t that sound fucking awful), or if he’s still angry at the man, or why three hundred and sixty five days is relevant, anyway. He knows that right now he’s not thinking about it, which is pretty crazy within itself. In the days after the event, he didn’t think he could ever think about anything else again. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to, either. 

“He staying over tonight?” Sam asks. 

“That’s what the schedule says,” Dean bites back, as Cas steps behind the bar and around the broken glass. “So…. Tomorrow,” Dean continues, pressing a finger into the point on his forehead where his eternal stress headache used to be. He’s going to send Sam home soon because whilst it’s not late, he doesn’t want Sam driving home in the dark when he’s distracted, and he’s sure that the closer they get to midnight the more distracted they’re gonna be. They haven’t talked about it, either. “I have it booked off. You do, too. You think about if there’s anything you wanna do.” 

“Rufus is driving down, I thought.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “But we can do something else. Just go see him and Bobby in the evening, if that’s what you want.” 

Sam nods and Cas hangs around, unobtrusive (or as near to as Cas can manage) and silent in the background, when Jo arrives back on the scene with her mother and the dustpan. 

“Jo says you’re seeing someone,” Ellen says. 

“Uh, yeah,” Dean says, and he gets cuffed on the ear for it. 

“You keep all the good stuff to yourself, Winchester! Are you bringing her to Sunday Dinner?” Ellen has a shrewd calculating look about her that suggest she knows exactly what she’s doing and who’s involved in the whole thing, and this is probably his punishment for not talking to her about it immediately. It’s a bit rich given the whole thing isn’t exactly old news, but ever since Dean and Sam disappeared for years Ellen’s been sensitive about being left out of information. 

Cas is trying to pretend to be very busy to detract the attention from him (and, Dean notes, directing his neck the way that Ellen can’t see the hickeys), Sam has his eyebrows raised and Jo, sweeping glass on the floor, is watching looking plenty self-satisfied. 

“Dunno,” Dean says, “Cas?” Cas turns around in slow motion, eyes wide and panicked. “You think it’s a good idea? Bringing em to meet the family?” 

“I don’t know, Dean.” 

“You ashamed of me, Winchester?” Ellen asked, hand on her hip and expectant expression in place. In a lot of ways, it would probably be convenient if Cas joined them for dinner. It’s a pretty recent tradition that only manages to happen once every three weeks, as one of the problems with Ellen’s tendency to keep things in the family is that usually one of them is required at the Roadhouse, but he likes it. Cas is supposed to stay at his that night, anyway, so it just pushes them together a few hours earlier; probably for the best, too, because as much as Dean’s schedule is supposed to ensure that they both see enough of each other and don’t see too much of each other, it’s not really going to work if Cas just accompanies back from his shift for them to fall asleep without exchanging so much as a sentence, with Dean waking him up too early in the morning to kick him out so he can go to work. Maybe he should just get the guy a key. 

“Course not, Ellen,” Dean grins, “It’s Bobby I’m ashamed of.” 

“You get your ass there on Sunday, Dean,” Ellen says, “With company.” 

“All right,” Dean concedes, turning in mock slow motion to turn to Cas. He’s back to pretending to be useful by drying a glass that probably wasn’t wet to begin with, leaning as far away from the conversation as possible. “Actually, Cas, you wanna come too? Could probably use the moral support. Meeting the family is kind of scary.” 

Ellen rolls her eyes and makes him clean up the rest of the broken glass, but when she pins up the shift rota twenty minutes later, the end of Cas’ shifts seem to line up almost exactly with his four days a week. 

He feels so stupidly grateful that he forgets to pretend he doesn’t know why she’s done it, or that he hasn’t noticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i solemnly swear i will finish writing this this summer before i go back to uni. And that other book i need to send to my editor. Yep. I'm going to write so hard. Promise.


	29. Chapter 29

Cas wakes up at some time around six and squints at him through the relative gloom of Dean’s bedroom. Dean’s been absently scrolling through the news since he gave up on sleep a few hours ago, figuring that Cas was such a heavy sleeper that the light from his phone would go unnoticed, and that there wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to be able to sleep. He pauses when he feels Cas’ eyes on him and offers a ‘sorry’ before setting his phone back down on the bedside table. 

He’s still getting used to this whole business of bed sharing, and Cas hasn’t exactly experienced the biggest downside of having Dean at the other side of the bed; the unsociable hours and the enforced dress code is one thing, but Cas hasn’t born witness to his insomnia yet. Sure, it’s not the worst, it’s just a little damn inconvenient when he has shit to do, but that doesn’t mean it’s not got to be a hundred percent annoying to share a bed with. The running and the sparring with Benny is helping like Sam always said it would. Not drinking and the fact that he’s cut down to a few cigarettes a week (his this-can-never-work-with-Cas-slump hadn’t exactly been conducive towards quitting; he’s working on it) is probably helping, too, but more than anything it’s his dark thoughts that keep him conscious. And, right now, he can’t quit thinking. 

“Dean,” Cas mutters, half sleep drunk and voice gravellier than normal. He’d been half sat up but he slinks under the covers slightly more, turning his body into the realms of Cas’ warmth and closing his eyes. It won’t help, that he knows, because nights like this sleep just ain’t coming, and if the thoughts creeping in at the edges are anything to go by, that’s probably a good thing. He doesn’t need frigging nightmares on top of everything else. “You’re awake,” 

“And ding ding, we have a winner,” Dean mutters back, “Five points to Castiel.” 

“Have you slept?” 

"No,” Dean says, opening his eyes again. Cas knows the date as well as Sam does, because Dean warned him about it a few days in advance. He’d slipped it into conversation at the Roadhouse, where Cas couldn’t exactly ask him about it, as an explanation as to why he has the whole of Wednesday off. 

“Do you wish to talk about it?” Cas asks. He suspects that if Cas was a little more awake he’d probably be a little more subtle about the request, but Cas is kind of useless in the middle of the night or early in the morning, which Dean is never going to admit how adorable he finds. Also, the casual line actually leaves him speechless for a few long seconds, because he doesn’t immediately want to tell Cas to shut up. It doesn’t sound like a confrontation. Cas would drop it if he told him too. 

He knows Sam would too, but it’s different talking to Sam. With him and Bobby and Ellen, he’s too caught up in responsibility and not wanting them to worry and obligation and his game face that it’s damn near impossible to give them a read on how he’s feelings. It makes him feel like he’s failing. It’s probably why he’s found it much easier to be honest with Charlie and Benny, but it’s a pretty radical notion to accept for a guy who’s been entirely family-focused since he was six. He can talk to Cas too, course, but then when he needs to talk _about_ Cas, he needs Charlie and Benny. Apparently, support networks contain more than just two people, and more than just family members. 

“I dunno, man,” Dean says, frowning, “Things with Dad were kinda… difficult. I was drowning, we all were, but I couldn’t blame him at the time ‘cause I knew he was trying, and I was trying, and it just happened that it all went to hell I…” Cas is close and warm and knows at least part of what he’s talking about, because the guy has plenty of daddy issues of his own. It helps. “I know he’d have gone to hell and back for me, Cas, he just didn’t have a damn clue how to parent. How to cope. And I get it. You don’t get a manual, but he… fuck, he’d undermine me and make me feel like shit, Cas, because it was easier to take it out on me than Sammy, cause I’d take it without a word, cause I just wanted everyone to stop fighting and get on. And he put all this stuff on me and… shit, I just don’t know whether the fact that he’d have died for us in a second is enough to make all that okay.” 

Cas shifts slightly so that his forehead is resting on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean can feel his breathing against his skin. Cas doesn’t speak and although Dean probably wouldn’t put money on Cas being asleep, but it’s possible. Still, it’s always the middle of the night when these thoughts just won’t leave him alone, and he can’t think of a reason why not to, so he drapes one arm over Cas’ back and keeps talking. 

“And then he dies,” Dean says, “And I didn’t know what the damn hell I was doing. Dad called the shots, see. I mean, all the time. Sammy used to hate it, cause I’d follow his orders straight off the bat, and Sam’s never stood for that kind of crap. I don’t even remember how we wound up back in contact with Bobby and Ellen. Maybe Sam called from the hospital whilst I was out, I dunno. Mum’s buried here, so we’re back in Lawrence for this funeral that barely anyone goes to but wipes out Sam’s college fund, that and the medical bills, and…. Damnit, Cas, I was so scared I was gonna become him. That Sam was gonna know I’d die for him, but that it wasn’t enough to compensate for me being a shitty brother and a shitty guardian. And it was so dumb, because I’d never been like Dad. I wanted to, but I wasn’t ever good enough. I spent half my life trying to be exactly like him, despite everything, and I wanted his approval and his respect, but he was busy with Sam and the pretty crime stuff and I just…I don’t know, Cas, I don’t even know if I miss him and that’s…” 

“Completely understandable,” 

“Maybe,” Dean admits, quiet and broken, “But that doesn’t make me feel any better about it.” 

“Your father might have been a good man, but that doesn’t mean he was a good father,” Cas says, “And you can still mourn him whilst acknowledging that he made your life difficult.” 

“He made everything difficult,” Dean says, sighing into Cas’ shoulder, “but, fuck, he was my Dad, Cas. And tomorrow we’re gonna go to his grave, and I’m not gonna have a damn thing to say to him.” 

“You are not obliged to say anything, or do anything, or feel anything. Your grief is yours to deal with however you can, and any expectations you feel are irrelevant, Dean. As you said, there is no manual. There are no rules. You just…” 

“Wing it and hope for the best?” Dean finishes. 

“Yes,” 

“All right,” Dean says, swallowing, “Enough with the talking,” 

“Then sleep,” Cas says, a thumb running over Dean’s shoulder blade. 

“It aint happening,” Dean breathes. He shifts a bit so that Cas is fully enclosed in the loose circle of his arms, and it’s kind of nice. He’s hardwired to look after people and the gesture sort of feels like that, even though Cas is the one doing the reassuring really. 

“I love you,” 

It’s the second time Cas has said that and Dean still doesn’t know what the hell kind of response he’s supposed to give. It does resonate right down to his bones, though, and it’s like some of the tension just seeps away from his shoulders and into the mattress. He doesn’t doubt it. Cas is here and listening to him talk about his dad at six in the morning, and it’s just so obvious that Cas loves him. Of course he does. 

“I… yeah,” Dean says, which is pretty much the same as what he’d done last time, too. He’s not quite Han Soloing him, but maybe it counts as the same thing. He’s not sure. He’s pretty sure Cas wouldn’t get it even if he did Han Solo him, either, because he’s from a different planet and has only seen Star Wars once, so the significance would probably fly right over his head. He’s just wondering how the hell he wound up with someone who’s seen Star Wars once when Cas presses a kiss to the inside of Dean’s neck, the only skin available to him without actual movement involved. And yeah, okay, fair enough. 

“Goodnight, Dean.” 

Dean frowns into Cas’ hair and wonders what the hell he’s supposed to do with the hours before it’s acceptable to get up, especially now he has Cas so far into his personal space that the prospect of detangling himself without waking him up again is going to require actual thought. He’s comfy, though, and his breathing is falling into the same rhythm of Cas’, and he doesn’t feel quite as torn up as he did five minutes ago. 

He’d pretty much stopped registering Cas’ thumb running over his collarbone until the movement stops, which Dean figures means Cas is asleep. Dean’s sighing and giving himself twenty seconds before he picks up his phone and checks the time, maybe getting up and doing something productive, when twenty seconds becomes a minute, and then five, and then, somehow, he’s dreaming. 

And it’s not even a nightmare, just a bog standard naked-in-school left-the-gas-on kind of dream. 

* 

Dean stumbles into the kitchen after about four hours sleep, to find Sam watching the TV and Cas hanging round the coffee maker, fully dressed. Dean’s not quite anal enough about the dress code that he was expecting Cas to be suited and booted (particularly when it’s still only about ten, which is Cas’ preferred time to start thinking about waking up), but then he remembers with a mixture of crushing dread and post middle of the night chat shame that it’s the anniversary and, of course, Cas isn’t gonna hang around for that. 

“Coffee,” Cas says, because Cas is an angel sent from heaven to make his life easier, clearly. His batman mug is being filled and passed in his direction before he has a chance to tell Cas that he’s a frigging saint, and then he forgets the part where Sam is there and backs Cas into the kitchen counter just for the sake of invading his personal space. 

“You heading out?” 

“To the library,” Cas says, “I can’t find my Latin dictionary.” 

“Jesus,” Dean grins, “Forget you’re such a nerd. See you tomorrow?” 

“Tomorrow,” Cas affirms, and Dean sets his coffee down and kisses him just because. It’s going down as the first time he’s kissed Cas in the same room as Sam (or anyone, actually), but if he’s gonna be around a lot it’s going to happen at some point and, besides he needs Cas’ hand curled around his neck right now. Its grounding and if Sam’s gonna tease him about it, at least that’s a better conversation starter than ‘so Dad died a year ago, huh?’ 

He watches him leave and then almost wishes he’d asked him to stay. There are a lot of hours of the day stretching out ahead of him, and they still haven’t worked out how they’re gonna fill them. They’re definitely going to wind up at the cemetery, but after that it’s anyone’s guess. Still, this is something that he and Sam have to deal with together and he’d probably hate himself later if he’d asked Cas to linger around a bit. Today is strictly Winchester business. 

Dean exhales and picks his coffee back up. 

“Cute, Dean,” Sam says, “Real cute.” 

“Shut up,” Dean shoots back, but it’s a good as an icebreaker as any. 

* 

Dean hasn’t been to the cemetery since the funeral, and he’s pretty sure that Sam hasn’t either. In the first few weeks he’d driven down to that side of town pretty frequently, to the point where he was screwing up his calculations cause he was spending too much on gas. He never went in though, he just couldn’t, and after a few weeks he just gave up and stopped coming too. Their mother’s buried here too, which is mostly why they ended up settling back here. Obviously, Bobby and Ellen were pretty big factors, but the first reason was always cause Dean figured they should at least be buried in the same place. He hadn’t thought beyond the funeral at that point. 

So it’s probably all kinds of shitty of him that he’s been to the damn cemetery about twice before today. 

The graves aren’t next to each other, because apparently they couldn’t swing that. He’d drifted over to Mary’s grave after the funeral, and it was pretty much how he should have expected if he was thinking about it straight. Unkempt. Clearly neglected. 

John’s look better. It’s either the fact that his has only been abandoned for a year, or someone’s been coming down and looking after it. He’d put money on Bobby, because it’s the kind thing he might do, ornery and silent. Not for John’s benefit, either, but for him and Sam. 

Bobby had helped him with the funeral details. He’d spent hours pouring over a fucking catalogue of headstones trying to work out what the hell he wanted, before Bobby had slammed down his whiskey and demanded to know who the hell they were doing this for. They settled on just ‘John Winchester’ and the dates after that, negating to mention Mary or fatherhood or any bullshit bible quote. It gave him less of a headache and it cut the heartache off right at the start, because summing up his father in a sentence suitable to inscribe on a slab or rock was just… 

“Dean, can we go?” Sam asks. They’d found the gravestone a little over five minutes ago, and he’s just been staring at it since. Dean’s wondering whether he should wonder over to Mary’s, too, because it might answer the question about whether Bobby’s been doing the upkeep. He’s partially curious but he also thinks maybe Bobby should be allowed his secrets, if it is Bobby, but Sam’s voice pulls him out his thoughts and right back into the present; the cemetery, the anniversary, their dead father. 

Dean looks at him. 

“This isn’t Dad,” Sam says, “Same as how that other headstone isn’t Mom.” 

There’s at least three other people in the cemetery and Sam’s’ voice carries over the silence, so Dean’s pretty sure they’re getting pity stares. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, because it’s true. He hasn’t visited the cemetery because it doesn’t do any good. He doesn’t feel any closer to John Winchester than he did back at their apartment, and he certainly doesn’t feel any better about it. This is just going through the motions. 

“It’s just rock,” Sam says, hands folding into his fists at his sides, eyes boring into the name inscribed there. “And ever since I read your journal all I can think about is how much it cost, and how ridiculous it is that Dad dying meant you had to start working a third job so you could pay off his frigging funeral whilst looking after me. I mean, dying is _expensive_ , Dean. And what’s the point of us standing here and looking at a stone all day? I don’t get it.” 

“I dunno, Sam,” 

“And I don’t think Dad would want us to stand here pretending that this means something just because it’s been a year. It doesn’t make anyone any happier. I’m sixteen and our family has the same number of death anniversaries and birthdays and it’s… I don’t know, Dean, maybe I don’t want to think about how this is the day Dad died every year for the rest of my life. Is that okay?” 

“Course it’s okay,” Dean says, gaze shifted over to Sam. For a kid who lost both his parents before he was old enough to drive, Sam’s scarily well-adjusted. He handled their father’s death a lot better than Dean did, certainly. Dean’s pretty sure that the only things Sam remembers about Mary are the things Dean has told him, which breaks him every time he thinks about it too hard, because he’s never gonna do Mary justice; but Sam lost the concept of a mother rather than the flesh and blood Mary Winchester, so they were always going to see that differently. Dean knows what they’re missing. Still, though, Dean’s head’s been a wasteland of self-destructive thoughts and anger this past year, whilst Sam’s just made the best of what they’ve got. He’s forgiven their father, and Dean’s pretty sure most kids don’t forgive their parents till they hit their mid-twenties, and he’s been carving himself out a new life since they got here. Not that he wasn’t sad, either, because obviously he was fucking devastated… but Sam seemed to work out pretty quickly that you just had to get on with it. 

Dean’s just about getting to that point, but it’s taken a year. Sam’s a helluvalot stronger than him, but then Dean’s always known that. Sam was the one who stood up to John’s bullshit. He’s better with the death stuff. 

“You wanna get out of here, we’ll get out of here. I’m aint exactly dying to be here myself,” Dean says, finally. Cas’ voice is ringing through the back of his head and, yeah, maybe he doesn’t owe this piece of rock jack shit. 

“Dean,” Sam says, smiling slightly, “Most people are,” 

“What?” 

“ _Dying_ to get here." 

Dean laughs before he can catch himself, because he hadn’t meant it like that. Sam is trying to hide a smile and it’s all completely inappropriate, but he doesn’t really care. Sam was right with what he said just a few days ago; John Winchester only ever wanted what was best for them, as bad as he was at the delivery, and they’re stumbling towards that now, and the life they’ve built here is good. It’s solid. 

Sammy is tall like Mary always said he would be. He’s okay. He doesn’t run away anymore. He’s making bad jokes in the cemetery where both of their parents are buried, but it’s okay because they _can_ make jokes, which is something. It’s something. 

“Wanna catch a movie?” Dean asks, after a few moments of silence. 

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, shoving his hands in his pocket, “Lest you wanna find our grandparents in here, too. Real family reunion. Bring a bottle of Jack and a psychic, have a real party.” 

“I thought the Campbells were cremated.” 

“Were they?” Dean says, “How’d you know that?” 

“Dad said,” 

“What do you know,” Dean mutters, sending a final glance at the headstone before shoving his hands his pocket and nudging his brother with his arm, “We should go for ice cream, then a movie.” 

Sam sends him one of those grateful smiles, and they exit the cemetery approximately ten minutes after they entered it. He can feel the pull of a few pairs of eyes on the back of his neck, and he’s not sure what the other people visiting graves must have thought of them but, fuck it. 

They can honour John Winchester via the medium of a superhero flick and chocolate chip ice cream, and the only person who has the right to object is six feet under. Anyway, he thinks as Sam strikes up conversation about Andy and Ava and going back to school, he can think of much worse legacies. 

* 

Part of the reasoning behind the whole schedule thing in the first place was to make sure he doesn’t get too caught up in Cas and forget about the bit where he has responsibilities and jobs and bills to pay. The three nights is there both to make sure they actually get to spend time together and to make sure Dean doesn’t go over the top, because he’s never really done this relationship thing before and he doesn’t trust himself. He doesn’t know how he’s gonna be and, anyway, Sam and Cas and three jobs and college is a hell of a juggling act. He feels a little more secure having a plan. 

Still, by Thursday he both hates himself and reckons the decision was a good call, because Cas left early on Wednesday and Monday morning seems like a long frigging time ago. 

It doesn’t help that Cas is demonstrating his stupidly large knowledge of languages to Jo. 

He’s dipping into Italian (although apparently he only has limited knowledge of Italian, but it still sounds frigging sexy) and Jo is sending Dean these sidelong glances like she knows exactly what she’s doing. He noticed about five minutes after Cas arrived for his shift that Cas’ lips were like _stupidly_ dry and chapped, and he doesn’t know why that’s distracting, or why the hell Cas decided to wear _jeans_ for once in his life. All he really knows is that his tips are down because he can’t stop staring at Cas’ ass and that if he doesn’t get to kiss the god damn Italian off Cas’ lips at some point soon, he might die. 

He hasn’t been this distracted by the prospect of sex since he was a frigging virgin, and Cas doesn’t even appear to have noticed. The way he’s feeling right now, he’s not entirely sure he’d have been able to let Cas go with a cursory hand to the shoulder just because it was a Friday, and they don’t see each other on Fridays, and that’s bad news. Very bad news. Except right now it is Thursday night, so he doesn’t care. Much. 

Jo dropped her hair tie and now Cas has bent down to pick it up, and Dean might actually rat her out to Ellen about her dodgy boyfriend, because she does not play fair. Dean is absolutely not resisting the urge to run his tongue over his bottom lip, and he is absolutely not considering the prospect of dragging Cas out back under the rouse of teaching him how to change a barrel again. 

Jo winks at him. 

“I’m going to check we have more bourbon out back,” Dean says, because he needs a minute. His voice comes out slightly strangled, but it can’t be helped. Somewhere that isn’t directly between his eye line to Cas (because he can’t seem to look away), Jo is smirking and looking self-satisfied. 

“Dean we don’t –” Cas begins. 

“Yep, we do,” Dean counters, before Cas can finish his objection. He knows they have plenty of frigging bourbon. 

Cas doesn’t follow him, which is good because if he had Ellen would definitely have to fire him for inappropriate conduct at work, and after a few minutes of pointlessly stock taking he feels sufficiently cooled off. 

At least until forty five minutes later, when Jo tells him it’s one and they’re free to go. 

“Oh thank God,” Dean mutters, and then, “Bet I can get back to yours before you can.” 

“That’s because you speed,” Cas says, but Dean’s already grabbing his jacket and heading for the door because, shit, he needed to be out of the place like an hour ago. He can feel Cas’ bemused gaze on the back of his neck and Jo’s laughing at his retreating back, but he doesn’t care. 

He’s stewing in his vague state of turned-on the whole drive back to Cas’ place, to the point where he has to take another few moments of closing his eyes and thinking of that creep Crowely’s sarcasm and shitty accent before he’s good to get out the car. He still nearly forgets to lock it, though, and he’s impatient enough to actually use the key Cas gave him for the first time. 

By the time Cas finally gets through the door, Dean’s been swearing about speed limits for a good five minutes. He doesn’t get much further than the door, though, till Dean has him backed up against it. Cas is usually the pushy one, but apparently Dean’s gone batshit crazy, because he’s the one that pins Cas’ hands above his head and presses their bodies flush together. 

“Jesus, fuck, Cas your mouth,” Dean manages, before he’s pressing a bruising kiss against said mouth, “We need to get you some fucking chapstick.” 

Cas is looking at him like he’s completely lost it, which probably isn’t completely off base, but if the guy doesn’t get with the picture soon, Dean might have to genuinely carry his ass to the bedroom (or the sofa, whatever, he’s not picky), and he’s not entirely sure whether that’s socially acceptable. Anyway, Cas might look pretty slender, but Dean can vouch for the fact that he isn’t as light as he looks. It’d be doable, but probably more hazardous than night-of-passion or whatever. 

“And if you say one more word in enochian I swear Cas I…” he presses his lips into the junction of Cas’ jaw, because Cas is still wearing his trench coat so he can’t really get anywhere else. It hardly matters when Cas hasn’t shaved for a few days, because he’s all rough stumble and edges, and it makes it hard to think straight (and there’s a joke in there somewhere, but now’s really not the time to be thinking about it). 

“And, dude, you are so not allowed to wear jeans,” Dean finishes, punctuating his last sentence by releasing Cas’ hands and going for his ass. Finesse out the window, because apparently Dean has regressed back into a gropey teenager. 

Fuck Jo and her stupid mind games. 

Cas responds, finally, and then he has Cas’ hands in his hair and Cas pushing into his personal space and capturing his lips, slotting their hips together and, Jesus fuck, Cas’ lips at his earlobe. “What word of enochian would you like?” 

And Dean is so very, very screwed. 

* 

Dean’s just working out how, exactly, to extract himself from Cas’ bed without waking him up (which, in theory, shouldn’t be difficult), when he’s stopped by Cas’ morning voice. It’s a deeper, gravellier and usually moodier variation on the usual theme, which basically means that it _does_ things to him. 

“Dean, stay,” Cas says, rolling over and essentially dumping the majority of his weight on top of his left side, anchoring him in place. It’s not the most subtle method of making his great escapist routine a little more difficult, but it works. 

“Woof,” 

“Why are you imitating a dog?” 

“Why am I staying?” Dean counters, shifting slightly to make Cas artfully lying onto of him slightly more comfortable, and rearranging his hands so that one is resting across Cas’ back. “I gotta go run.” 

“No,” Cas returns, eloquent as ever. 

“Cas,” Dean whines. 

“It is not beneficial to go running every morning. Scientists believe you should take at least two days off a week. More to the point, Sam isn’t expecting you and your running gear is at your apartment.” 

“Dude, that’s the longest sentence I’ve ever heard from you before nine AM,” 

“It was several sentences.” 

“Point remains,” Dean says, smiling slightly. “Cas, you’ll still be sleeping when I’m done. What gives?” 

“I’m not sleeping now,” 

“Yeah, I got that. I can just drive back and –” 

“ – no,” Cas interrupts. 

“You want me to stay in bed, you could just say so,” 

“I did,” Cas mutters, petulant. His morning voice has morphed back into something a little more like the usual, which doesn’t usually happen until after at least a cup of coffee. It probably shows that this, whatever point he’s trying to make, is important enough for him to actually wake up for it. “You are not leaving this bed until ten.” 

“Have I been giving you an abandonment complex or something?” Dean asks, and if the way Cas temporarily stops squirming (he’s like, trying to burrow his way to finding a comfortable way of being half sprawled across Dean or something, and Dean’s pretty sure that’s not gonna happen) is anything to go by, Dean’s hit the bullseye. Dean _does_ usually get up earlier, just cause he’s near enough hardwired to survive on a minimal amount of sleep, and to fit as much in the waking hours as he possible can. He hadn’t really thought about how it must feel on Cas’ end. “You should have said,” Dean tells the silence, “I’d have tried to… I dunno, work something out.” 

“You’re busy.” 

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, because he is. Most of the time, lie ins aren’t exactly an avenue available to him. Things have been better since Ellen and Pam clubbed together on a mission to have him sleeping for more than a couple of hours a sleep a night, but it’s still rare for him to have a full ten hour gap between shifts like he does right now. “Not gonna lie, Cas, idea of staying here till kinda stresses me out.” 

Cas pulls him over to his side so they’re face to face and frowns at him. 

“Exactly.” 

“Okay,” Dean says, because there’s no arguing with the blue of those eyes and Cas’ frown. On some level, he knows it’s at least several shades of crazy that he can’t just _relax_ for more than a few hours of a time, so Cas probably has a point. He usually has a point. And there are worst things to be talked into. “So… ten.” 

“Ten.” 

“What if I’ve got to pee?” 

“Dean,” Cas frowns at him, forehead folding together into mild displeasure. It’s been one of Dean’s favourite expressions out of Cas’ repertoire from the off, so he grins back and sinks down onto the pillows. Ten. That’s only like three and a half hours’ time, and he’s pretty sure he can manage that. He’s pretty frigging screwed up if he can’t spend three and half hours in bed with his, well, with Cas. 

“Am I your hostage?” 

“Yes,” Cas says, hands running over his back, pausing just below his shoulder blades. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” 

Cas’ hands smother over his shoulders before returning to his back. They slip down over his waist and hips, before venturing back again, and then over his ass. He tenses slightly because, yeah, whilst he’s not freaking out about the kinda-gay thing that much, he’s not all there yet. Not with that. Cas’ hands don’t linger, though, and are tracing down his thighs before Dean has a chance to tell himself to get a grip. 

“Last night was very enjoyable.” 

“Enjoyable,” Dean repeats, voice tinted with amusement, “You’re such a dork.” 

“This _dork_ is going back to sleep.” 

“It’s a good job I like you,” Dean says, watching as Cas blinks at him. He’d been thinking about picking up some breakfast on the way back from his run for them both, because Cas’ selection of breakfast options are pretty frigging limited, and maybe airing out the idea that Dean could leave some of his running shit here, for Friday mornings. He doesn’t want to go as far as to suggest a drawer, because in his conception of relationships that’s pretty much a marriage proposal, even though he’d found himself half emptying one in his own bedroom when he was sorting out the laundry yesterday. He wasn’t really think about what it meant so much as that it’d probably be easy if Cas just _had_ a space in his apartment to stow his crap (and it’s not like the guy hasn’t had most of the content of his apartment dumped in Dean’s bedroom before), but then he had to stop himself. He’s hardly going to bring it up now, when apparently him skipping out on mornings is a problem but… 

“Yes, it is,” Cas says, “Sleep, Dean.” 

He lets himself be pulled back into a half arsed attempted at a sleeping position. He sincerely doubts he’s going to manage to sleep for any longer, but there’s worse things than having Cas warm and solid by his side with the covers cocooning them, albeit temporarily, in a reality where Dean doesn’t have anything to do until ten AM. 

Dean’s using the key Cas gave him to his apartment and starting to think of their routine like it’s permanent. He’s not sure whether it’s normal to fall into thinking something’s solid quite so soon, but then they sort of already rode out the turbulence before they got to this point here. It doesn’t feel like it’s about to crumble beneath him quite yet. 

He could get another key cut, although he’d have to run it by Sam first, but it’s not a totally crazy idea. Probably practical. 

Vaguely, he’s wondering whether normal couples have lie ins every weekend and whether this constitutes as cuddling. Probably, he decides, closing his eyes. Probably. Dean’s pretty surprised to find that he doesn’t care. It feels like he’s finally managed to carve a few hours of peace out of the chaos, even if it took Cas bullying him into it. He’s pretty sure that counts as divine intervention. After ten AM, he has the jobs, and thinking about college restarting, and Sam, and the bills, but right now he just has Cas’ legs tangled with his, and Cas’ breathing punctuating the silence of the room. 

And, for once, he doesn’t want to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha this chapter gets me up to the original ending I wrote last September, when this was going to be a relatively short 80k type event... So, there's like another... three or four chapters to go and they shouldn't take too long, although I do have to rewrite most of it. Still, should be fairly speedy from now until the end :)


	30. Chapter 30

Dean’s always known that Ellen is a saint, but the past month or so she’s been earning a frigging halo. 

School’s restarted up for just about everyone and he’s had a bitch of a time catching Cas for longer than it takes to have a five minutes conversation. Sure, Cas is still staying over on Tuesday and Sunday nights, and Dean’s still at his every Thursday, but they’re both generally too exhausted to get further than collapsing in bed next to each other. He’s back to running around after Sam and switching shifts like a pro in order to make at least ninety percent of his classes whilst working the maximum hours a week that Bobby and Ellen are letting him (and yeah, they were serious about that). He’s missing Sam, even though he drops round to the Roadhouse for a few hours of Dean’s shifts most night. It’s not enough, though, so he’s got a meeting with Missouri about potentially dropping one of his classes and catching it up next year; Cas and Sam will still be in school, anyway, and it’s about the only way he thinks it’s going to work out. Not that he’s talked about that with either of them yet. It’s on his to do list, right up there with sleeping and telling Cas he thinks he _might_ be down for trying that bottoming thing, if they ever get a minute. 

Cas is doing long stints in the library and tearing his hair out over essays already, and Dean’s pretty sure the semester hasn’t reached full swing yet. He’s getting more harried students in the diner with every passing day, though, so it’s getting there. 

And Ellen, glorious woman that she is, has synched up pretty much all of their shifts and, more to the point, left them to man the bar alone at least a few times a week. _Not_ that the absence of other people means they can up to anything (Ellen would skin him, for one), but at least they get a chance to have a damn conversation. It’s a shitty substitute for date-night, but it’s better than nothing at all. 

Of course, Cas is still absolutely _useless_ at bartending and would pick up really shit tips if it wasn’t for Dean stepping in and helping him out, but he doesn’t really care that he’s working twice as hard because, hey, he gets a couple of hours to talk to Cas. 

Even if today, Cas is punishing him for skipping his French credit class (which he’s already regretting taking, but it seemed sensible given he has a free tutor) by _only_ talking to him in French. And, yeah, usually Cas talking French is a huge bonus… but not when he’s got another forty five of bartending until he can get Cas in the Impala and kiss him until he can’t remember which language is which. 

Forty five minutes isn’t even that long, but Cas has been making French sex jokes for nearly five hours, and it got old a long time ago. Cas has just asked for a glass in French and it takes a few seconds too long for him to work it out, and now he’s frustrated and tired and a little bit turned on, and none of it’s really helping. He’s tired. He’s really frigging tried. 

“Ici,” Dean retorts, pressing the glass into his hand with a grimace, “Take it.” 

Cas raises an eyebrow at that, which conjures up a whole new line of thought that Dean would _like_ to indulge in, if he didn’t have to serve up pints and flirt for tips, which is super awkward with Cas right there. 

He disappears out back to fetch another bottle of Vodka, because they’re nearly out, and when he gets back Cas is stood stock still at the far end of the bar. 

“Hey,” Dean says, approaching with the intention to remind Cas that being nice to customers is actually part of the job description (although not _too_ nice, obviously), but he stops short when he realises he recognises the customer from a few months back. The Roadhouse is usually full of regulars, so new faces stick out a bit, but this was the guy who asked for his life story and wouldn’t stop talking, so Dean definitely remembers him. Dean figures Cas was probably getting the same treatment and just didn’t know how to respond, and Dean wonders whether he’s allowed to bar him just to avoid the headache. 

“You’re back,” Dean says, flatly. 

“Dean Winchester,” The shorter man says, Gabe if Dean remembers correctly, is smiling slightly, “We meet again.” 

“Yeah, unfortunately,” Dean says, although he’s not entirely sure he ever gave the guy his surname. “All right, what do you want?” 

“Just a little chat with Castiel, here,” the man says, eyes sliding towards Cas with a slight nod. 

Cas is still stock still, staring. Dean hasn’t heard him anyone refer to him as Castiel as opposed to Cas for an age (apparently, his nickname caught on pretty quick), but it falls off this guy’s tongue like it’s completely familiar. Usually, people who just got the introduction tend to be a little more tentative with his name, like they’re pretty sure they’re getting it wrong and are worried about being corrected. It’s the fact that Cas’ expression is a throwback from when he found himself unexpectedly face to face with Anna and that he doesn’t exactly know many Gabriels that finally gets him there, then his brain whites out for a few seconds. 

Ah, crap. 

“You’re shitting me,” Dean says, glancing at Cas, “ _This_ is Gabriel.” 

“The myth, the legend,” Gabriel said, quirking up his eyebrows, “Heard a lot about you, Dean.” 

He wants to ask how in the hell that could possibly be true, but he gets the feeling Gabriel wants him to ask about it. He helped Cas redraft a couple of emails to Gabriel surrounding the subject of Anna, and read over the drunk one he sent to confirm that it wasn’t bad because Cas couldn’t face it (it was pretty bad, but it could have been a lot worse), so he can confirm that Cas didn’t give much more information than that he was working at a place called the Roadhouse, something fairly innocuous about missing the burgers at Pam’s dinner and that he was on a road trip. It’s a big jump from that to Anna, and now Gabriel, showing up in his lives like they knew exactly where to find him, though. 

“Yeah, likewise,” Dean returns, “didn’t like much of it. You’re right though, Cas, Gabriel es courts.” 

“How did you find me?” Cas manages, his voice lower and rougher than normal. Dean barely resists the urge to reach out and grab his hand, if only because he doesn’t think he should intrude on the moment any further. Anyway, Gabriel left before Cas came out to his brothers and it didn’t exactly go down that well with them. He’s not about to throw another spanner in the works. This thing is fragile enough already. “How do you know Dean?” 

“He showed up here a couple of months back, while you were away. Asking questions. ” Dean says. It probably would have been about a week after Cas’ email, now he thinks about it, so Dean can’t exactly hold the guys response time against him. Email to visit at place of work that quickly must have required a hell of an internet search, and Dean’s not even sure Ash could figure that out. Charlie probably could. “Did you send Anna?” 

“You could say I misguidedly pointed her in this general direction,” Gabriel says, shrugging slightly. 

“You wanna talk to him, Cas, I’ve got the fort covered. You don’t, I’ll chuck him out.” 

“I’ll speak with him,” Cas says, exchanging a long look with Dean before he steps into action and out from behind the bar. It’s technically against Ellen’s rules for him to be handling the bar solo, particularly when it’s a Saturday night (although it’s not all that busy), so he texts Jo before glancing at the doorway and calling Sam. There’s not many people about considering, and this phone call is only gonna take a minute. 

“Dean,” Sam answers, blearily, “Is everything okay?” 

He doesn’t normally call after midnight and he probably would have just sent him a text if he hadn’t been so thrown by Gabriel, but it’s not a school night so he doesn’t feel too bad about it. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “you catching your beauty sleep, Sammy?” 

“What do you want?” Sam asks, sleepy. 

“Cas’ brother’s just shown up at the Roadhouse,” Dean grimaces, “I’m gonna stay with him tonight.” 

Sam had gotten some vague details about Cas’ family drama over the course of their friendship and now relationship, and Sam knows enough about how crappy family can be to sympathise. Besides, Sam has been nagging him for the past few weeks about how Dean’s schedule is dumb and a ‘classic Dean’ because he’s ‘self-sabotaging’ his relationship by not allowing it to ‘develop.’ Dean had stuck a ‘nerd’ post-it note on the back of Sam’s shirt for the entirety of Sunday Dinner to compensate for his interfering; that, and the fact that Rufus hadn’t left the state at that point, and he and Bobby were having a staring competition over the roast chicken about whether Rufus was going to make a comment about Cas being there. Probably not even a bad comment, either, but Dean’s version of coming out to Bobby had been “So the girlfriend couldn’t make it, so Cas is here instead” and Bobby calling him in idjit, so he didn’t really want Rufus to start a dialogue about it. Apparently, Bobby felt the same. It all boiled down to Rufus raising his eyebrows like he was about to say something and Bobby dragging him out back for a word, and after that nothing further was mentioned. Cas didn’t get a goodbye handshake, but Rufus has always been an ornery motherfucker. 

“Okay,” Sam says, “Keep me updated.” 

Cas is already walking back towards the bar, looking shell shocked and mildly irritated; in Cas terms, that’s pretty much just stiffer posture than normal and one of his traditional frowns, but he’s well verse in the small variations of Cas’ body language these days. 

“Well, that was short,” Dean says, pressing Sam, still on the line, into his shoulder for a moment. “Height joke unintentional.” 

“We’re meeting for coffee tomorrow morning,” Castiel says. 

“You want me to come?” Dean asks, “Hang around in the background or whatever?” Cas doesn’t say yes, but the slight tilt of his head is answer enough. “Hey, Sam,” Dean continues down the phone, “You mind covering my shift at Pam’s tomorrow morning… yeah, don’t get excited. You’re still not working, it’s one shift. I’ll owe you. All right, see you tomorrow, Sammy.” 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says, once Dean has hung up. 

“Gotta stand by my man,” Dean grins. 

“I don’t think this is what Tammy Wynette had in mind.” 

“Seriously,” Dean complains, “you don’t get _Star wars_ references, but you get Tammy Wynette?” 

“Lucifer used to like country.” Cas’ voice is sort of contemplative, and Dean’s not even sure how the hell you’re supposed to respond to something like that. He settles with a reassuring pat the shoulder, and Cas turns to look at him like _he’s_ the crazy one. 

How this became his life, he’s not entirely sure. 

* 

Cas is all lines of tension and irritation as he heats up soup, because apparently Cas forgot to eat before his shift (something to do with a Spanish translation; Dean got lost somewhere in the explanation) and doesn’t own any food. Dean’s suggestion of a takeout was out and out ignored, and although Dean’s tempted to start an argument just because at least _then_ Cas might let him in on what’s going through his head, he’s decided to let the guy get on with it. Plus, they haven’t had a proper argument since they started this thing up, and Dean isn’t keen to get to that first hurdle. Cas isn’t exactly an expert at handling conflict. 

Soup really isn’t sufficient food and the emptiness of Cas’ fridge feels a little bit like a failure on Dean’s behalf, because clearly Cas is not capable of looking after himself which, in Dean’s mind, means he should probably be doing the looking after. He should be making sure that Cas has actual food in his cupboards and nagging him to eat in study breaks, but he’s barely even _in_ Cas’ apartment, so he doesn’t get much opportunity to. 

“I get it,” Dean says, as Cas angrily stirs his cheap tomato soup. Cas doesn’t look up from his stirring, but he pauses for long enough to indicate that he’s heard him. “Hell, Cas, I can write the book on how shitty it feels to be left behind. Every time Sam packed his bags it felt like I was fucking breaking, so I get that having them walk out on you like that… it blows. It hurts. But… Cas, you’ve been trying to tell me from the off that people leave for a reason. You’ve been trying to absolve your guilt over walking out on your brothers by convincing me of that, or whatever, but you’ve got jack shit to be guilty about. That’s on Michael. You know that, right?” 

“I know,” 

“So, way I’m reading this… this is a good thing,” Dean says, standing up and walking over to the kitchen, “My Dad and Sam, they came back. And, like you said, they…” This is difficult, because these are truths he’s only just beginning to admit to himself and things that are going to take a lot more time to internalise, because it goes against the faulty ways of thinking he’s been drowning in for years. He takes another step so he’s lined up behind Cas in the kitchen, taking his strength from the line of Cas’ hips, solid beneath his touch. “… they weren’t running from me. They were running from the rest of the shit that was going down. From reality. To a new start. And you, Cas, this summer when you left,” Cas leans back against him slightly, and Dean rests his head over his shoulder, “You had to go, man, you weren’t leaving me. You had to go look for your Dad, I get that. I get that now. And I was always left behind cause I wasn’t running to anything. I’d just given up. So course I was getting left behind.” 

“I like to think that’s no longer true,” Cas says, soft and letting Dean wrap an arm around him, and take over stirring the soup. Cas has actually done an excellent job of fucking up the tomato soup, which would be damn near impressive if it wasn’t so horrifying. He’d make a comment about it, but everything is a bit too raw right now to start poking holes at him for being suck a crappy cook, like pressing a bruise. 

“Anna and Gabriel didn’t leave because of you, Cas, I swear. They had their reasons. I ain’t saying they were good reasons, or they excuse leaving you in the lurch, or even that you have to forgive them. But they’re family, and you deserve to know why. Gabriel’s found you, somehow, and he’s already swung by the Roadhouse twice. Anna came by the diner. I mean, hell, maybe they just live a half hour drive away, but I doubt it. They wanna see you.” 

“Why didn’t they contact me?” 

“People burn a lot of bridges when they’re running away from shit. Sometimes it’s damn hard to rebuild them again. My Dad fell out with Bobby and Ellen years back, Rufus too come to think of it, and then spent the rest of his life too damn proud to kiss and make up. I mean, Dad rubbed people up the wrong way. Wasn’t many people he was still talking to by him in the end.” Dean sighs, turning the heat off and moving the saucepan to the side. Cas turns in the circle of his arms to face him, blinking. “Gets harder the longer you leave it.” 

“Don’t say things like that in front of Gabriel,” Cas says, “The potential for euphemism would amuse him greatly.” 

“He get your share of the sense of humour?” Dean asks, “I gotta say, Cas, I’d be hard pressed to find the resemblance.” 

“Gabriel had a longstanding joke that I was adopted.” 

“Well, he sounds charming. Can’t wait to meet him for coffee.” 

“You didn’t have to ask Sam to cover your shift.” 

“Eat you soup, Cas,” Dean says, “If it is edible, cause I ain’t convinced.” 

Dean’s pretty grimy from a five hour shift at the Roadhouse and six hours at the dinner. He’s pretty sure he has some clean clothes somewhere in Cas’ apartment (because he certainly has some of Cas’ at his; his stupid shirts keep turning up in his laundry), but he feels like there’s not that much point unless he washes first. He doesn’t really want to leave Cas, but previous experience has lead him the conclusion that Cas’ shower was not built with two grown ass men showering together in mind. 

“Ten minutes,” Dean says, trying to ignore the slight slump of Cas’ shoulders. 

He doesn’t have any of his own shower gel in Cas’ bathroom and Cas’ is supposed to smell like a sea breeze, or something, and as much as Dean doesn’t mind the smell on Cas, he doesn’t particularly like it in reference to himself. He needs to bring round some normal fucking toiletries, period, because Cas has this funky toothpaste that tastes wrong and his shampoo makes his hair feel weird, but it’s way down on the list of shit Dean needs to do; it’s oceans below mentioning potentially dropping a class to Cas and Sam and closely followed by his French homework, so he might get round to it before Christmas, but there’s no guarantees. 

Either he doesn’t have any clothes at Cas’ place or Cas is holding them ransom, because he can only find a pair of boxers and a pair of sweats. He grabs one of Cas’ shirts for good measure, even though he sort of hates them, because tonight is about Cas being hung up on his brother and nothing else, and besides Dean is so exhausted that the idea of sex sounds like an actual chore, and he’s trying to communicate that via the medium of shirts. 

Cas looks at his shirt like it’s personally insulted him and the idea that Cas is holding his clothes ransom is seeming a lot less unlikely. 

And he hasn’t finished his soup yet. Cas looks a bit more dejected about how crap the soup is with each mouthful and it’d be funny if Dean was capable of finding funny anything right now. He’d thought the shower would wake him up, but it’s just highlighted the sixteen different ways his body is aching. 

“Man, I am beat,” Dean says, slumping down next to Cas on the sofa. He doesn’t usually squeeze in an emotional chat after he’s finished at the Roadhouse, and his limbs are screaming at him to sleep. 

Thursday nights sort of became sex-night, just because it was their only guaranteed Sam-free evening, and as a consequence he’d skimmed a few hours off his usual sleeping schedule Thursday night, then another few because he’s been missing too many runs with Sam. Then it was the weekend, so he got up early to nag Sam about his homework and try and fit in a film before he had to head to the diner, and worked the later shift at the Roadhouse Friday for the good tips. He probably shouldn’t have arranged his weekly sparring session with Benny on Friday, in retrospect, because now everything hurts. It’s all been a domino effect of exhaustion and now he’s so spent that he can’t imagine ever being awake enough to go running again, let alone voluntarily fight someone. 

It’s actually the first time he’s ever stayed at Cas’ place for two nights so close together, so it’s the first time he’s been able to see evidence of his existence around the place; there’s two breakfast plates _still_ waiting to be washed up (Cas is a slob when there’s studying to be done, apparently) and the remote is where he hid it under the sofa, because he was being a dick and he kinda likes irritating Cas. Thursday’s clothes are intermingled with Cas’ in the laundry and there’s two towels in the bathroom. It’s nice, actually, in a slobbish kind of way. They could be two stereotypical students half cohabiting, rather than two near enough broke twenty sometimes who act like they’re in their thirties. 

“The shirt was unnecessary,” Cas says, and he’s set down his soup, and is turning his towards Dean’s instead. Cas is doing that thing where he looks at Dean like he’s worthy of being painted in oils and framed, and Dean’s too tired to distract Cas by kissing him or saying something, so he’s just half collapsed on the sofa looking right back. Dean knows he’s attractive at least by some abstract sense of the word, mostly because when he was a teenager the only outlet he had was attention from girls and because he makes a lot of his money from flirting and making girls flustered. He got about half of his jobs in virtue of being sort of good looking, and he’d never really thought about it until recently, because it was just one of those things. It wasn’t till Jo was going through a few of the pictures she’d taken in the past year because she wanted to send Dean this one of Sam from Christmas that he’d caught of a glimpses of himself in picture form that he realised he’d _lost it_ at some point. 

He looked exhausted, pale, and thinner than he really should have be. It didn’t help that the particular photos he was looking at were from Christmas, when he’s ninety percent sure that he started drinking whiskey before Sam got up, but a lot of it clearly wasn’t temporary. 

He’d broadened out and gained muscle when he was about seventeen, but in those photos the outline of his muscles is lost under too old clothing. The cigarettes and the drinking and not sleeping is all there in the slouch and the forced smile, and maybe he gets why his family were worried, and why Sam took desperate measures. He’s kind of repulsed by the Dean in the photos who doesn’t give a shit about himself. He’s not exactly high on his lists of priorities now either, but at least he features. 

Comparatively, the sleeping, the sparring with Benny and the running is making him look actually alive again. He put back on some of the weight when he’d broken his arm (less shifts meant he had more time to eat, and Cas was around to make sure he ate too, which combined with his almost complete giving up of cigarettes was enough to fatten him up a bit), but now he’s returning to his old shape and fitness level, and he feels better for it. The new clothes that Sam bullied him into (he hasn’t taken back the half he was determined not to keep yet, just because he’s been so busy, but with the pay rise from Pam finally starting to trickle through into his bank account he’s thinking he might not bother… anything to save a trip from the mall) are the first none-second hand clothes he’s had for about a decade, and he actually almost likes them. They don’t feel like they’ve been washed too many times, or scrubbed raw to get out some stain or other, or like they’re the sort of thing he’d never pick out for himself if he had the choice. 

So he could almost understand why Cas looked at him like that now, but Cas has always looked at him like he’s worth looking at. It’s in part why he’d taken note of Cas’ staring from the off, because Cas wasn’t looking at him like he was a zombie or because he appeared in a newspaper thanks to the stupid bank robbery thing, he was looking at him like he _wanted_ to look. He doesn’t know what exactly Cas thought he was seeing but, right now, when he feels like crap from pushing himself too hard and dropping a class feels both like a salvation and like a failure, and when he misses Sam and misses Cas and is never gonna have enough time not to miss them, he thinks he could bathe in the way Cas just looks at him for hours, if he had any going spare. 

Cas kisses him, and he still sort of tastes like tomato soup and it’s weird mixed with Cas’ stupid toothpaste. He should have taken Cas up on his offer of coffee when they got in. Theoretically, the opportunity to fit more sex into the week is too good to miss up, but he’s pretty sure he’s too tried to get up and walk to Cas’ bedroom, let alone anything beyond that. He’ll no doubt be kicking himself come Wednesday, but he hasn’t got it in him right now. 

“I’m gonna drop one of my classes,” Dean says. It’s supposed to be a distraction tactic, but Cas doesn’t seem fazed by it. At least he can check another thing of his to do list, he supposes, as his eyes flicker shut. He forces them open again, but it takes effort. 

“Okay,” Cas says, then he’s back to pressing a line of kisses over Dean’s shoulder blade with intention. It’s not like it isn’t nice, or anything, it’s just he’s half slid down into the sofa and Cas’ sofa has never felt as comfortable as it does right now. The chances of him falling asleep is a lot greater than the chance of him getting more involved with the proceedings, and Cas’ ego probably can’t take that right now. He doesn’t really like saying no to sex with Cas as a matter of principle, but usually Cas is too in-tune with how Dean’s feeling for it to be necessary; he can’t exactly for fault him for being distracted by Gabriel, though. 

“Cas,” Dean breathes, “I love you, man, but I can’t right now. You wake me up in a couple of hours and we can do whatever you want, but I did like ten hours today and I didn’t exactly get many hours sleep in last night so…” 

Cas is staring at him. He’s hovering over him on the sofa and _staring_. Dean wastes half a minute thinking Cas is caught up on the ‘we can do whatever you want’ bit of his last speech and he’s not really sure why, because as much as they haven’t really switched up positions, they have talked about it. Or the Dean Winchester brand of talking, which was more like conducting whole conversations through the medium of eyebrow raises and gestures and pushing a couple of boundaries; still, they’d communicated the message that although it was off the cards _right now_ it wouldn’t be forever, and probably not for that long either. He’d been taking a rain check and hadn’t quite got round to telling Cas that he was ready (probably), but it’s not exactly out of blue, and definitely doesn’t warrant the shocked hue of Cas’ stare. It’s then that he backtracks to the first part of his sentence, and realises that he just threw out the L bomb by accident. Huh. 

It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it in those terms, because he has. It crossed his mind when he was stressing about everything over Tequila with Charlie, he certainly thought about it over the period of time when they were sleeping together but not really _together_ together, and he’s thought about it in period of time since. Cas has thrown those words out exactly four and a half times (Dean interrupted the last), and Dean’s either responded by a super articulate ‘yeah’ or by kissing him to shutting up, or pretending to be asleep. He’d come to the uncomfortable realisation that until this year no one had said that to him since he was six, just because it wasn’t exactly the Winchester style, and he never really had friends or a girlfriend (or a boyfriend). Ellen offered more tough love than ‘I love yous’ and Bobby would be more likely to start baking fairy cakes than offering up those kind of verbal sentiments. And here he is, being so exhausted that his brain short circuits and he starts telling Cas about his feelings. 

Distract and redirect, Winchester. 

“If you don’t wanna fuck me you should have said weeks ago,” 

Cas lets out a breath he probably hadn’t even realised he’d been holding and he smiles like it’s frigging Christmas, and Dean’s chest sort of splits in half. Fuck. 

“I would like to fuck you very much,” Cas says, and Dean thanks him silently for not mentioning the whole _love_ thing, more than happy to let another significant relationship moment drift by. Screw Sam and his belief that their relationship isn’t ‘developing’ because it totally is. Also, Cas’ lips forming the word should be illegal. Especially when he’s a hundred percent ready to drop and doesn’t even have the energy to pull Cas back over to him. “How much sleep do you require?” 

“I dunno, dude, you’re usually the precious princess who needs eight hours a night. You tell me. How long have we got?” 

“I’m meeting Gabriel at Pamela’s diner at twelve.” 

“Pam’s?” Dean asks, a headache pushing in at the left side of his brain. Pam is just going to love that. He’s pretty sure she got the low down about the Cas thing from Ellen, or maybe just because of that time Cas came in a joined him for his free breakfast, but either way she knows about it, and Pam doesn’t exactly like Cas. He doubts she’s going to have much sympathy for Dean taking a day off to help Cas through is family reunion when it’s conducted on her doorstep. Not after he banned her new favourite employee from working in school time. 

“Is that a problem?” Cas asks, suddenly looking stricken. “Gabriel suggested it.” 

“Nah,” Dean says, closing his eyes for a second, “No problems here. I’ll sort it, don’t worry,” Dean continues, when Cas frowns at him. Cas was too fried to think about the potential impacts on his employment and he will sort it, it just might take a few of the crappier shifts to swing his forgiveness. He’ll be fine as long as he drops that class, which he’s itching to do anyway. It’ll work out. “So we have… uh, nine hours. Six hours sleep should swing it.” 

“I can manage six hours.” 

“We both know it’ll be me waking us up in four hours when I’m horny and you’re not interested,” Dean says, half wanting to stretch but knowing that it’s too much effort. He could probably sleep for a week, if only he could spare the time, and he doesn’t know how the hell some shitty community college course is supposed to be worth it when it means he misses out on spending time with Cas; time when he’s not too exhausted to make it through conversation and when they can drag out sex just for the sake of it, rather than having a counter of the potential hours he can sleep going at the back of his head. He wants his stuff in Cas’ bathroom and a drawer next to his bed, and lazy days in bed and dirty weekends, but none of it’s quite possible, at least not right now. “You gonna carry my ass to bed, Cas?” 

Cas looks like he’s considering attempting it, so Dean pulls himself up off the sofa sharp-ish. He really doesn’t need another busted up arm on top of everything else. 

* 

He wakes up face down in Cas’ bed, the smell of coffee coming from somewhere, and Cas sitting on the edge of the bed _watching him_ like a creeper. 

“Hello Dean,” 

“Is this a cup of the good stuff?” Dean asks, blearily reaching for the coffee. Apparently, his budget aside, Cas still has a weak spot for buying expensive ass coffee. He’d boycotted it on principle for a while, but in the end it just smelt too good. It’s like heaven in a cup. 

“You want to drop one of your classes.” 

“So out of the whole of that conversation, that’s what you’re focusing on?” Dean asks, rubbing a hand over his face. The coffee’s borderline warm rather than hot, and given the time he suspects that Cas got up after exactly six hours (dude probably set an alarm or something, the literal freak) and has been debating whether or not to wake Dean up since. 

“You were very tried,” Cas says. 

“So?” 

“I assumed you’d wish me to ignore everything,” Cas says, all blue eyes and serious expression. It’s one of those moments that makes Dean wish that he was a little better at all this crap, because Cas shouldn’t be thinking himself into corners where Dean doesn’t love him, or convincing himself that it was just exhaustion talking. He should just know the way things are despite Dean’s inability to communicate. 

“No take backsies,” Dean says, over his cup. Cas is doing the staring thing again and Dean’s chest twists. “What, you want me to say it again after I’ve had more caffeine? Lock me up till you can prove I’m in my right mind before you frigging listen?” 

“So, dropping classes,” Cas prompts, smiling slightly, and if Dean doesn’t fucking love him for the conversation shift. 

“Right,” Dean says, sitting up slightly and draining the rest of his coffee, “Doesn’t make much difference, just takes longer. I can do like… another semester next year. I’m just… I’m tired, Cas.” 

“How tired?” 

“Well,” Dean says, gaze caught on the arch of Cas’ lips, and the curve of his smile. “Not _that_ tired.” 

Cas tastes like expensive coffee in the morning, and it’s exquisite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said four more chapters? Apparently I was lying. Hah.


	31. Chapter 31

“This ain’t bring your dirty laundry to work day, Dean,” Pam says, when Dean has muddled through an explanation as to why he’s conducting a Novak family meltdown in the middle of his place of work. He doesn’t really have a choice about the matter because Cas told Gabriel to meet him and Pam’s, they have no way of telling him to meet him somewhere else (except email, which he might not check) and he can’t leave Cas to deal with this on his own. He gets where Pam is coming from, though, and his rushed apology just has her raising her eyebrows at him, unimpressed.

“It’s a one-time thing Pam, I swear.” 

“And you’re breaking half the customer’s hearts, coming in here with your damn boyfriend.” 

He tries to persuade her that it’s actually good for business, because it means the one with boyfriends can flirt with him and then pacify said boyfriends with the ‘he’s gay, it’s fine’ line. Pam isn’t exactly thrilled, but eventually pushes him out of the backroom and tells him he’ll get Sam to bring Cas over some of the nice coffee he likes. He’s not included in the nice-coffee thing, but Sam might bring him some anyway. 

“Dean,” Gabriel says, having arrived in the time where he was sweet talking Pamela, and Cas is slouching so much it looks like he’s trying to fold himself in half. “You joining us?” 

“Yes,” Cas says, before Dean can answer. Dean sucks in a deep breath and takes his seat next to Cas, draping an arm over the back of the booth. Cas leans into him. It’s probably the most coupley they’ve ever been in public, but whatever Cas wants is fine by him right now. Wherever the hell Gabriel’s been getting his information from, he’s made enough off handed comments and looked at him enough for Dean to figure he knows that they’re together. Cas isn’t exactly subtle about it and either it hasn’t occurred to him or he doesn’t care, so whatever. 

“So, Cassie left the flock,” Gabriel says, “And then there were two.” 

“Why did you leave?” 

“Straight to the point,” Gabriel says, “I like it. And you got taller.” 

“You didn’t,” Castiel returns, and Gabriel laughs. Dean doesn’t know what to make of any of it and is relieved by the momentary distraction of Sam bringing their coffees over. They sit in almost silence as Gabriel tips four packets of sugar into his small cappuccino and Cas just _stares_. 

“You remember what it was like,” Gabriel says, his voice dropping into serious. It throws Dean for a few seconds, but it doesn’t seem to surprise Cas; it figures, given they’re brothers and all, but Dean’s still surprised that they still seem to _know_ each other. “Michael and Lucifer. The fighting.” 

“Yes,” 

Gabriel stirs a fifth packet of his sugar into his cappuccino, before pausing to take a sip. 

“There was this party,” Gabriel says, “Something to do with Raphael and a trust fund. I forget the details. You went home early, party pooper that you are.” 

“Your point,” Cas interjects, voice flat. Gabriel smiles slightly. 

“Anna bought her boyfriend,” Gabriel says, “And Michael wasn’t happy about it. The boyfriend was… well, he wasn’t that bad, but he didn’t exactly follow Michael’s… teachings. Anna was twenty, so naturally she objected to Michael’s high and mighty act. Luci took the other side. He didn’t care about Anna, he just liked stirring things up,” Gabriel’s expression is bitter, his voice dark. “Everyone had drank too much. Michael… Michael was threatening to cut Anna off unless she fell in line, and Luci jumped in and said that he’d fund the rest of Anna’s degree, and then they tried to force me to pick a side. Balthazar diffused the argument before any weapons were drawn, but that’s when it started to get bad.” “

So you left,” 

“We protected you from the worst of it, Castiel,” Gabriel says, “You don’t know how bad things were.” 

“Don’t I?” 

“I had to pick between you and Michael, or Lucifer and Anna; it was made very clear I couldn’t have both.” Gabriel continues, “Anna had to pick between you and having a life. Honestly, I don’t know how you won out for such a long time, Cassie, over her boyfriend and her degree…. I stuck it out because you were a kid, playing up to both of their expectations, sucking up to Michael like I _respected_ him and his decisions. . And then…and then Anna got pregnant.” 

Cas sucks in a breathe of air, and Dean tightens his grip on Cas’ shoulder. Shit. 

“She’d already burnt the boyfriend bridge when she found out and, anyway, he was a student same as Anna. Michael would have disowned her,” Gabriel says, but his words have a degree of dark flippancy about them that makes Dean uncomfortable. There’s no doubt in Gabriel’s mind about what Michael would have done, and these people are family, and Dean’s mouth is dry and he doesn’t know how to process how _family_ could do this to each other. John Winchester fucked him up pretty bad, but that was just misguided good intentions and a slight alcohol problem; it wasn’t malicious, just shitty. “Lucifer wanted her to have an abortion. For all his talk, Luci was just a different brand of _devout_. He was blackmailing her, Castiel. Anna needed someone to run to. So I left first.” 

“Did she…?” Cas begins, voice stiff and stuffed full of a hundred different emotions. 

“She miscarried,” Gabriel says, mouth an unhappy slant, “She hung around for a few more months afterwards, until Michael found the medical bills. We were both covered on his insurance at that point, although Mikey soon put an end to that. He gave her twenty five thousand dollars to disappear, and she took it. She wanted to contact you, but Michael forbade it. There was talk of a restraining order – you know how Michael liked things to be dramatic,” Gabriel continues, “Anyway, she didn’t come after me. I got a postcard and a couple of thousand in the post. I don’t think she was feeling very family inclined at the time.” Gabriel continues, taking a sip of his excessively sugary coffee, “I was keeping tabs on you, Cassie. Balthazar gives me updates.” 

“Balthazar,” Castiel repeats, lips thinned. Dean’s not really expecting that name drop, but it sort of makes sense. If he’d been in Gabriel’s position, he’d have done whatever the hell he could to keep tabs on Sam. Whilst he likes to think he’d have left Sam with a phone number and a forwarding address, he sure as hell wouldn’t have butted out of his life completely. Beside him, Cas visibly tenses. 

“Oh, I know all about that,” Gabriel says, quirking up his eyebrows slightly, “Can’t say your taste has improved,” He says, his gaze shifting to Dean, momentarily. 

“So,” Dean interjects, “Just to make sure I’ve got this right. You know Cas is…gay,” Dean finishes, for want of a better word, “And you leave him in the hands of your hyper religious psycho brother?” 

“Down, boy,” Gabriel says, narrowing has eyes at him, “by the time I got the full story from Balthazar, he’d already left. He wasn’t keen to share his part in that fiasco, given he was screwing my little brother; not exactly in the job description. I didn’t think you’d want to hear from us, after that. Thought I’d let Bambi test out his legs… Then I get a phone call a few months back, and Balth tells me you’ve _stolen_ his cell phone and he thinks you’re going through some sort of crisis. Something to do with being in love with some straight guy called Dean and trying to find _Dad_. I get your email. Balth caves in and tells me you’re in Kansas, of all places, somewhere near Lawrence. You mentioned working at the Roadhouse in your email. I turn up and try and scope out the place, meet the infamous Dean and figure that you’re still on your Dad hunt. Hell of a faulty gaydar you have there, Cassie.” 

“And Anna?” 

“We talk on the phone every few months, she.... wasn't doing so good, after everything. Needed space.” Gabriel says, “I said I’d heard from you. Made the mistake of forwarding on your email when she asked. I didn’t count on her upping and running to it here and hitting on your boyfriend. Now, I’m doing damage control.” 

“Nice work with that,” 

“Cheers, Deano,” Gabriel says, “You seem to be doing all right. Better than Anna, anyway. I’ve been in Philadelphia, trying to talk her round. Apparently, she’s upset. How’d finding Dad go?” Gabriel asks. Cas’ lips thin slightly. “Like I thought,” Gabriel says, voice turning dark again. “Dad isn’t Dad anymore, Cassie. He doesn’t care.” 

“And now you run strip clubs,” Dean says, to ease the tension ever so slightly, “How’s that?” 

“Not as lucrative as you might expect,” Gabriel says, “But I get by. Anna has a third of Michael’s pay out money in a bank account for you if you want it, Castiel. She goes by Anna Milton now. She wants to hear from you.” 

“And you?” 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Gabriel asks, “I’m based in LA, but I’m around till Wednesday. Our family’s fucked, Cassie, but we never meant to leave you behind. We didn’t have a choice.” 

Cas nods once. 

* 

“You wanna a drink?” Charlie asks, sprawled across the armchair in her apartment, whilst Dean and Cas clog up the sofa. Dean’s not exactly most people’s go-to guy for an emotional hangover (as much as he knows his fair share about family drama), so he wasn’t quite sure what to _do_ with Cas after the Gabriel turbulence. It’d been a fairly quick decision that the Sunday dinner with the extended Winchester family (which, yeah, is more a Harvelle-Singer-Winchester fusion), wasn’t going to help, and hanging around Cas’ empty apartment was just going to result in Cas trying to block him out. Ditto with Dean’s apartment, particularly when Sam got back from Bobby’s. So eventually he’d just ignored Cas’ silence and drove them to Charlie’s place. “Soda, beer, whiskey…” 

“Whiskey,” Cas says, somewhere from Dean’s left. Dean’s currently killing aliens on Charlie’s x-box, which Cas was supposed to be doing too, before he rolled his eyes and declared he didn’t understand the point. Dean’s gonna get him playing at some point, though, thaw him out before he takes him back home. 

“You can have one then I’m cutting you off,” Dean says, butchering his grenade attempt by failing to run away fast enough. His health was already pretty low so now he’s just plain fucked, and Charlie is laughing at him from her armchair, although he’s not sure if it’s because he sucks or because he’s suddenly Cas’ nagging husband. “Shut up,” Dean says, and starts another game. 

“The drinks are in the kitchen,” Charlie says, pointed. 

“You can’t make Cas get them,” Dean says, “Dude’s having a crisis.” 

“Well I’m on my period,” Charlie says, “So I guess this missions’ yours, Dean.” 

“I’m busy,” Dean says, slamming his thumb down on the fire button before swearing because, damn, he hasn’t got enough amo for this shit. 

“And I was busy, suffering, before you guys show up. Make the girl whose apartment you just crashed run around after you? Dick move, sir.” 

“Come over Dean,” Dean says, in a terrible attempt at mocking Charlie’s voice, “Whenever you want. Bring Cas over. We can teach him how to play grand theft auto.” 

“You can virtually rape in that videogame,” Cas says, frowning. 

“So we’re playing something else,” Dean says, nudging his shoulder. “Come on, Cas, you take over, I’ll get the drinks.” 

“I don’t want to,” 

“You’ll be great,” Dean says, “Just shoot.” 

“- Dean,” Cas protests at his retreating back, looking at the x-box controller like _it’s_ the actual grenade to be worrying about, not the onscreen equivalent. Dean pats him on the shoulder and wonders into Charlie’s kitchen. He’s now been here enough that he knows where the alcohol is, but it still takes him a minute to find the cupboard with the glasses. 

Remarkably, by the time he returns with two measures of whiskey and a beer, Cas hasn’t died yet. 

He’s actually doing better than Dean was, which definitely wasn’t in his plan for the evening and is definitely not okay. 

“Dude, you’re doing it wrong,” Dean says, because he’s obnoxious and totally not above sabotage. He passes Charlie over a whiskey and sets their drinks on the floor before flopping down next to Cas, snaking his arm round him so he can get access to the control on both sides. He closes his hands over Cas’ under the pretence of showing him what to do, even though he knows full well Cas won’t buy it. Still, the whole point of this exercise was to distract him. Dean’s apartment has a crappy TV and a DVD collection that they went through ages ago, and Cas’ apartment has shelf loads of books in different languages. Not exactly brilliant distraction material. 

“Dean, you’re making me lose,” Cas says, voice all prissy and hot. 

“Nope,” Dean says, “Look, we’re going this way,” 

“No,” Cas says, trying to push his thumb away with his own and, ha, they’re having an actual thumb war over the x-box remote. Dean’s trying to make them go left, but Cas’ interference just has their on screen character running around in a circle. “Dean,” 

“Caass,” Dean shoots back, aiming their gun into one of the cave walls and firing it, just because Cas’ irritation is so perfect. 

“Stop – ” Dean presses the X button to release another grenade, closing his hand over Cas’ completely so he can’t access the movement controls. They watch for a few seconds before the whole thing blows up, and Dean’s totally not reading into the potential symbolism of that. “- it.” Cas finishes, as the game over flashes up. 

Cas drops the remote and Dean curls his right hand around Cas instead, pulling him closer against his chest. Cas looks a little bit like he just remembered about Gabriel and his family all over again and slumps back into his touch without commenting any further. 

“Cuddle time,” Charlie grins from the other sofa. 

“You want in, Bradbury?” 

“Hella yeah,” Charlie says. 

He winds up with Cas, still starting at the telly, leaning on his right and Charlie on his left. Course, Charlie is just half tucked under his left arm, whilst Dean’s fingers are splayed out over the expanse of Cas’ stomach holding him tight enough that Cas can’t forget he’s there, so the whole thing isn’t exactly symmetrical. 

“Sorry about the family drama, bro,” Charlie says, eventually. 

“Sorry about your ovaries, sis,” Cas returns, in that way that sounds like a mixture of sarcasm and deliberate effort to fit in with general social conventions that are beyond the realm of his understanding. 

“Dean, your boyfriend kicks ass,” Charlie says, plucking the controller out of Cas’ lap and restarting the game. Charlie can put them both to shame, obviously, and she knows it full well. She’s only been holding back ripping into him because Cas is here and clearly upset. Likewise, Dean is holding back his disapproval of the word ‘boyfriend’. 

“I gotta say,” Dean says, after a few moments in which he really thinks about the situation, and in which Charlie slides down the sofa and decides to use his left leg as a pillow, Dean’s arm still draped over her stomach. “That this is the gayest thing I’ve ever done. And I’ve done Cas.” 

“And been done,” Cas says, candid as ever. Dean’s smiling as Charlie fist bumps his knee and says something about how she’s proud of him, because it means Cas is comfortable telling Charlie things too (and, god, was that only this morning?). He’s wanted them to be friends but never been a hundred percent sure that he’s managed it, but he feels better about bringing Cas here to hang out with Charlie with the reassurance that Cas doesn’t mind Charlie knowing things about their relationship. Plus, like this they could be any other twenty-something couple hanging out with their friends and playing x-box. It’s weird. 

Cas isn’t smiling though. 

“You need to cheer up, angel,” Dean says, mumbling it into Cas’ forehead as Cas continues to stare at the TV. Charlie is killing things on screen and it’s not quite interesting enough for the faux-look of rapt attention on Cas’ face, he’s just trying to avoid looking at him. “How can I help, man? Blow job. Access all areas pass to Dean Winchester. Whatever you want, Cas, I’m all yours.” 

“Sam’s home,” 

“Then you’ll have to be quiet,” Dean says. 

As much as he’s been trying to avoid them sleeping together when Sam is in the apartment, it’s not like they can wrangle that forever, and if Dean’s thinking future and long term and maybe living together (one day, not right now, not even adjacent to right now), then they won’t have the luxury of a second choice of apartment. 

They’ve been doing pretty well, anyway, because Sam has only ever walked in on anything untoward twice, and neither of those occasions were particularly scarring. The first, Sam got sent home from school sick and found them necking on the sofa, but Dean had been too pissed that Sam hadn’t called him for a lift to fit embarrassment or awkwardness in there. Besides, all hands had been outside of clothes so the whole event had been entirely pg-13 appropriate. The second occasion was even less of an event, and Cas maintains that the only reason Dean was bothered was because he’d been the little spoon at the time. Otherwise, Sam just sees the odd kiss or hug and them sitting slightly too close on the sofa, and it works. 

Maybe there a bit too young for don’t-wake-the-kids-up-style illicit sex, especially Cas who didn’t inherit this and probably should really be screwing someone who lives on a college campus with a roommate or whatever, but… 

Cas is giving him a look like he’s the loud one, which is totally unfair and inaccurate, and Charlie can probably hear Dean’s silent denial of such facts. 

“Dudes, stop eye fucking in my apartment,” Charlie says, hitting him with the x-box remote to make her point. “You guys are gonna have to either feed me or leave me.” 

Charlie has one hand clutching the x-box remote (although there’s not a game playing at the moment) and one clutching her stomach, and although Dean neither needed nor wanted the update on her ovaries, he probably could have taken a guess anyway by the way Charlie answered the door with her fists pressed into her stomach. Awkward. 

“That bad, huh?” Dean asks, nodding in the general direction of her downstairs regions. Charlie grimaces at him and restarts the game. 

“We could order take away,” Cas says, and it’s the first positive thing that Dean’s heard out of his mouth since they saw Gabriel, so he’s taking that as a dazzling leap forward. 

“Anywhere deliver here, Charlie?” 

“Get Sam to pick us something up,” Charlie says, stabbing at the controller. 

The fact that Dean somehow managed to find people roughly his age that are willing, and even frigging suggest, hanging out with his sixteen year old brother is pretty miraculous. It helps that Sam grew up fast, so is smart and interesting rather than bratty (most of the time), and that Charlie got to know Sam whilst he was working at Pam’s, but still. 

He winds up texting Sam from Cas’ phone (because it’s easier to slip his hand into Cas’ pocket than his own), and Sam turns up at Charlie’s thirty five minutes later with a Chinese take away and a sarcastic comment about Dean’s phone usage. It eases some of Dean’s gradually forming guilt about ditching Sam for basically the whole weekend, to the point where they stay past Sam’s Sunday curfew without Dean really noticing. 

And when Dean is ushering a half exhausted Cas to the car, he realises that Cas forgot all about his whiskey. 

* 

“I need to apologise to Anna,” Cas says, when they’re stepping through the front door to Dean’s apartment. It’s Cas’ first reference to anything that happened in the cluster fuck that was today, and Dean pauses in his walk to kitchen to make coffee. It’s probably late for caffeine, technically, but he did promise Cas illicit don’t-wake-Sam-sex, even if it seems more likely that they’ll wind up just talking again. 

“Probably, yeah,” Dean says. Sam’s not back yet because Dean drives too fast and Sam isn’t allowed to do the same, because Dean would have his ass for it. Not that Sam would, anyway, but it’ll probably still take another five-ten minutes before his brother pulls up. 

“I made her cry,” 

“You didn’t know the bigger picture,” 

“I didn’t want to,” 

“You okay?” Dean asks, pausing to look at him. Dean was expecting Cas to flick the light on and he didn’t, so now they’re half immersed in the darkness of the apartment with only the dim dusky glow from outside. Cas looks sort of beautiful in this lighting, even though Dean would never voice that out loud (unless sex was involved, maybe), but more pressingly he just looks miserable. 

It’s not unexpected, but it sucks that despite all his distraction techniques and efforts to cheer him up, he can’t do a damn thing against the onslaught of reality. 

“I thought Balthazar was my friend.” Cas says and, yeah, that is so _not_ the line that he was expecting that he’s completely floored for a few long seconds. 

“You’re upset about _Balthazar_ ,” Dean says, slowly, “Ex-boyfriend, closet case, douchebag Balthazar?” 

“Yes,” Cas says, shooting him a dangerous look, “He was in contact with my brother the entire time we were together, and for over a year since then, and he didn’t once think to mention this fact.” 

“You expected him to?” Dean counters, flicking on one of the lights in the kitchen so they’re at least not talking about this in the dark. “We’re not talking about the winner of Mr Nice Guy award, Cas.” 

“He stabbed me in the back.” 

“Cas…” 

“I told him about Anna. I told him that Gabriel hadn’t returned my emails since.” 

“Really,” Dean says, voice flat, “When?” Cas turns to look at him, eyes icy, and Dean resists an urge to stake a step backwards. “Because, honestly, this is the first I’ve heard of this Balthazar is my best friend crap.” 

“Balthazar is the only form of contact I have had with my family for the past year, Dean.” 

“So you do talk to him,” Dean says, “Regularly.” 

“Dean –” 

“Don’t act like I’m being crazy here,” Dean interrupts, voice rising, “You were in love with this guy, Cas. This is losing virginity and living together and being disowned for coming out to your family. Not _mentioning_ that you still talk every other day isn’t slipped-your-mind, forget-to-mention it crap, that’s out and out deception. You’ve been _lying_ about this.” 

“Because it isn’t important and I knew your reaction would be – ” 

“Like any fucking reasonable human being’s would be?” 

“We are _friends_.” 

“So you’re saying that when you went to go stay with him in Baltimore, right after I kissed you, nothing happened?” Cas narrows his eyes, but Dean isn’t sure whether he’s pissed because Dean actually just asked that, or because he’s right. And either way it’s none of his business, because Cas didn’t even know he frigging cared back then, but that doesn’t mean it’s not sending white hot jealousy coursing through his veins. He didn’t even know he was _capable_ of jealous jerk behaviour, especially when there’s a much more pressing bigger picture issue right now, namely Cas’ family. “Don’t fucking leave,” Dean snaps, because Cas is pulling his coat back on, and he is absolutely a hundred percent not letting Cas leave; not when Cas is dealing with Gabriel and Anna and Balthazar and their first official stupid argument. “Don’t leave, Cas.” 

“I do not talk to him every other day, Dean, I just – ” 

“That’s not the point. Quit playing naïve. It ain’t cute, Cas.” Cas aborts the act of speaking half way through and then just stares at him, one arm still in his stupid frigging coat. 

“You wanna cry about Balthazar, you do that on your own dime. You don’t just throw that on me and expect everything to be a-okay. Is this some bullshit way of distracting yourself from Gabriel? Because apparently he had some pretty good reasons for leaving, so now you can’t get mad. So, what, now you’re starting some dumb argument on purpose so you get to be pissed at someone?” 

“I did not start this argument.” 

“Hate to break it to you Cas, but conversation dropping that you’re buddy buddy with your ex _is_ starting an argument. And this, this, isn’t just going to go away when you’re ready to deal, so _thanks_ Cas, thanks. You feel better now? Because, personally, I feel like shit.” 

“Dean…”Cas begins what was sure to be a rousing speech that Dean absolutely does not want to hear, because he does feel like shit. He feels like Cas just pissed over everything they’ve been building, because he’s pretty sure he could deal with Cas being in contact with Balthazar if Cas had maybe just mentioned it _once_. Or at least bought it at a more optimum moment, than when he’s wrung out and tried and has been _really_ trying. He gets it dropped into a conversation where he’s supposed to act all sympathetic and understanding, and he can’t do it. 

Cas is cut off before he gets anywhere, though. 

“Erm, guys,” Sam says, announcing his presence in the doorway. Dean’s fists are clenched at his sides and Cas has his half coat pulled on, and he’s pretty sure they’ve been yelling. Sam glancing between them is enough to drain the fight right out of him, and then it’s just shame and betrayal and exhaustion. “Everything okay?” 

“Fine,” Dean mutters through gritted teeth, “It’s fine. Go to bed, Sam.” Sam falters in the doorway before catching his eye, nodding, and heading into his bedroom. Cas has, at least, stopped pulling his trench coat back over his shoulders. 

Except Dean’s pretty sure the only reason he told Cas not to leave in the first place was because he wasn’t done laying into him, because he certainly doesn’t want to deal with him right now. He looks like a kicked puppy and Dean can’t deal with it, because he’s mad, damnit, and half of him is itching to just give the guy a hug because he obviously needs it. Logistically, Cas can’t leave because Dean drove them here, and because leaving means something and nothing good at that, and there’s no way Dean is driving Cas back to his apartment right now. Besides, Sunday nights are in the schedule, and moments like this is kind of when then schedule is sort of important. 

“I’ll sleep on the sofa,” Dean half grunts, brushing past Cas to lock the front door. He doesn’t know how everything went from next to perfect this morning to how crappy it is right now, but the fight is kind of an open wound and he needs time to stop bleeding. 

“This is your apartment, Dean.” Cas’ voice has turned soft and reasonable and Dean wants him to keep yelling. He doesn’t really, because Sam’s here and they’ve done a good job of not upsetting their neighbours thus far, but the lack of emotion and the gravel in Cas’ voice is suddenly the worst thing he can possibly think of listening to. 

“Yeah, well, I’m used to it.” Cas is staring at him as he finds a ratty old sleeping bag in a corner of his wardrobe and pulls it out, and staring as he crosses over to the sofa and rearranges the equally shitty cushions. He wants to shut his bedroom door in his face, but he’ll regret it tomorrow, and Cas is going through stuff right now. He’s hurting. People act all kinds of crazy when they’re hurting, he’s testament to that. Hell, he’s probably acting crazy right now. “We’ll talk in the morning.” 

Cas takes it as the dismissal that it is and leaves him be without another word. 

* 

Cas wonders into the main room around three AM and joins Dean on the sofa. Dean burries his face in the fake leather and pretends to be asleep, even though he’s been awake and running things over in his head since he went to ‘bed’ on the sofa at eleven. It’s the largest stretch of time he’ll get to sleep in all week, and he’s wasted it imaging exactly how Cas’ catch ups go with Balthazar. It’s futile, because he knows next to nothing about the guy, and each scenario is steadily more unrealistic than the next, because he knows full well that Cas doesn’t exactly have the time to be seeing anyone else. Cas is near enough incapable of flirting, particularly in text message form, so he’s reasoned himself into a corner where said conversations are just platonic updates and conversation about Cas’ family, but he can’t get any of it out of his head. 

“Thank you for today,” Cas mutters into his skin, arms wrapped around his back. Dean’s pissed at himself for yelling at Cas when he has family drama, and secondarily pissed about Balthazar, but Cas presses his lips to the back of Dean’s neck and runs his hands over his shoulders. He doesn’t really feel like he deserves being thanked for today. As great as the morning had been, the second they left Cas’ apartment the whole day took a turn. And obviously his distraction techniques at Charlie’s didn’t do a damn bit of good or else none of this would have happened; maybe Cas even got the idea from Dean sabotaging the stupid video game, except that Cas pressed the button and dropped the Balthazar grenade, and Dean’s the one that’s blowing up. 

Dean turns over under the stupid sleeping bag and looks up at Cas, blinking at him. He runs his thumb over the lines of Cas’ jaw, over the arch of his lips, half apologises in the way he presses their foreheads together and breathes in, deeply. After a few minutes, Cas speaks again. “I pushed you too far.” 

“I do that daily,” Dean counters, “Don’t lie to me again, Cas, please.” 

“My friendship with Balthazar is not of import.” 

“That doesn’t fly, Cas. If it wasn’t of ‘import’ you wouldn’t have bothered hiding it,” Dean says, because he is sure that Cas did do it on purpose. He's had half an hour to think of a whole multitude of occasions that Cas has been shifty or evasive. Maybe his main problem is that he’s just realised that Cas has done this all before. This relationship thing is brand spanking new for Dean, but Cas did all this with Balthazar at some point. And it’s unfair and shitty of him, let alone completely irrational, but right this second Dean kind of resents him for it. He doesn’t like the thought that, if all this dissolves, Cas might go through the same relationship stages with someone else. It’s selfish and dumb, but in this particular moment he doesn’t want to think of Cas happy with someone else, lest he gets to the conclusion that Cas would be happier with someone who had a little bit more time and effort to offer up. He wants to say _I thought you trusted me_ or _I thought we were smarter than this_ , and the whole damn argument is such a cliché that it kind of hurts, but instead he just holds Cas’ eye, frowning. 

“Can we go back to bed now?” Cas says, it’s not exactly the promise of honesty he was hoping for, but he can read the anxiety in Cas’ shoulders. He can’t decide whether he’s justifiably ticked off or just an asshole, but he does know that two conversations and a bit of time down the line and it probably won’t matter. He won’t care forever and, right now, Cas needs him. He’s hurting. 

He lets Cas lead him back to his bedroom. 

He doesn’t really sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the fun Cas-angst arch of this whole thing and the length of it keeps fluctuating and now we have another argument. Sorry.


	32. Chapter 32

Dean takes Benny out in four minutes flat come Wednesday, but he’s still pissed. There’s a punching bag propped up in the corner of their space, left over from whoever was here last, and Dean’s het up enough that he sends another few hits in it’s direction. He throws his whole weight at it, revelling in the shockwave that travels up his arm. It hurts, but then it was sort of supposed to.

It’s then that he takes a breath and offers a hand up to Benny, who’s grinning when he says “You seem troubled brother.” 

“Yeah, cry me a river,” Dean shoots back, shoulders still tense. He’s still suffocating in irritation which means this whole thing is pointless, because it means there’s no way he can hit hard enough to vent his frustration. He’d been counting on being able to punch himself out of this rut, because he can’t think of any other way out. “Let’s go.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure, you wanna stand here and talk about it all day?” 

“I’m guessing this has something to do with this Cas of yours,” Benny says, reassuming his stance. 

This time, it only takes him there minutes. 

* 

Thursday, Dean regrets it. 

Not least because Benny now thinks he needs to get his head checked, or that because now Dean’s on par with Benny (at least when he’s fuelled by a silent breakfast, a day of no communication and a night of awkwardly sleeping next to each other without talking), Benny’s set him up a session with someone else, who Benny’s guaranteed will beat the shit out of him. They don’t exactly stick to any conventional rules or techniques in virtue of picking up dirty tricks and ways of fighting thanks to criminal activity, whilst this Victor Henrikson is reportedly training to be a fed, so he’s pretty sure he will get owned in a more conventional, clean fight, but he could use an ass kicking right now. It might make him start thinking straight. 

Mostly, though, it’s the fact that his shoulders ache and his arm hurts. He’s beginning to remember that his doctor had once said something about avoiding strenuous activity for six months, lest he did another number on his arm, but he hadn’t really paid him much mind at the time. Now his joint feels weak and there’s pain shooting out of his shoulder. 

Waiting tables doesn’t help and he’s not efficient as usual, because he kept having to make a couple of trips to take plates instead of taking all the weight at once, which put him in a bad mood and had a knock on tip on his tips. He has a grin plastered on the face the whole god damn day, but the customers seemed to have wised up to his happy-act now they’ve got a glimpse of the real thing. Or maybe Pam was right, and Dean showing up at the diner with Cas has screwed his flirting routine to hell. Either way, the money’s not as good as usual, which leaves him wondering why he even bothered. 

He hasn’t talked to Cas since Tuesday night. He left Wednesday morning without waking him and Wednesday was Cas’ evening off, so he didn’t even see him at the Roadhouse. He misses him even though he’s still pretty angry, but he doesn’t really know how they can pull off another evening of silent treatment alone in Cas’ apartment. Sam made not talking easier, at least. 

“You okay?” Sam asks, because Dean’s stretching his shoulder out in the kitchen and letting their food go cold on the table, and because he’s been in this moody funk since the argument, and because Sam always wants to know that sort of thing. He relentlessly cares about Dean’s wellbeing even when it’s difficult to. It’s damned annoying. 

“Fine,” Dean snaps, although there’s not much heat to it. He’s too tired to even manage dismissive properly. 

“Your phone’s ringing,” 

“Huh?” Dean asks, because he hadn’t even noticed. He’d put it on vibrate because he was vaguely hoping that Cas might text him about tonight whilst he was on shift, so he’d tucked it in his jeans pocket and occasionally gotten it out to glare at it. Now Sam’s said, he can hear it vibrating on the table, but it takes a minute to talk himself into action. 

“It’s Cas,” Sam says, pointed. Sam looks like this is some sort of victory, which it isn’t. He needs Sam to quit hovering round the edges of his argument with Cas like he knows what’s happening, because he only caught half of it and that was more than Dean wanted him to know. And he has this horrible feeling that Cas is calling to tell him not to come over, not to kiss and make up. 

“Hey,” Dean says, when finally answers. There’s a lot of background noise which isn’t exactly reassuring, because Cas’ world generally involves college, the Roadhouse and their apartments, not busy places with background noises. 

“I’m going to Philadelphia.” 

“What?” There’s silence on the other end for a few seconds, and then Dean can hear a voice in the background telling people to people that the next flight to Chicago is boarding, and his brain unsticks. “Right now?” 

“My flight leaves in five minutes,” 

“Call a guy before you get to the damn airport, Cas,” Dean says, trying to keep his lungs working. Sam is looking at him. “Philadelphia?” Sam’s eyebrows rise. 

“It was last minute, Dean, I’m sorry,” Cas says, hastily, “Gabriel purchased the tickets. I’m going to talk to Anna. I’ll be back next Wednesday.” 

“You told Ellen you’re taking another week off or…?” It suddenly occurs to him that, technically, Cas has just gained some money. It hinges on whether Cas is going to take his third of Michael’s pay-off from Anna, but if Gabriel can buy him last minute flights to frigging Washington then ‘I get by’ be damned, because Cas isn’t exactly stranded anymore. He doesn’t like it. It’s selfish, but the fact that Cas was sort of broke too made him feel like they were equal in at least one respect, because without the money struggles they’re mostly from different planets. 

Mostly, he doesn’t want Cas trying to push money on him. He never has. He just accepts Dean splitting the bill however he feels fit because Cas just knows that it’s not up for discussion, but if Cas was rolling in it again it would tip the balance. 

“Not yet. Dean, I need to hand in my essay on classic Spanish literature before Monday and I have a number of library books that need to be returned.” 

“Want me to water your plants too?” Dean asks, and he feels partially righteously angry that he’s going to be running round doing Cas’ errands and partially mollified that it really was a last minute decision. Cas wouldn’t leave his library books to gather dust with any forethought; he gets super stressed about library fines. 

“I don’t have any plants.” 

“I know you don’t have any fucking plants. Yes, I’ll go hand in your essays and your damn library books. Anything else?” 

“Yes,” Cas says, and he must have moved because the reception is slightly crappier here, and the background noise is louder. “About Balthazar –” 

“– we’re not doing this over the phone, Cas,” Dean cuts across him. Sam’s eyes are hot on the back of his neck and he’s going to have to microwave his food, and it’ll probably make him late for his shift. Ellen’s going to be pissed because he’s probably going to be the one to deliver the news that Cas has fucked off to fucking Philadelphia, because it sounds like Cas is as at the departure gate. 

“If it makes any difference at all, I love you.” 

The words has the usual effect in that they wind him for a minute, but with the added twist of ice in his veins. And he wants to say he loves him too but Sam is in the room and he just _can’t_ with his brother there, so he settles on swallowing. His shoulders and arms ache. He doesn’t want to wait a week before he gets to sort things out with Cas. He wanted to fix it tonight. That’s why he’d tried to punch his frustrating out in the first place. “It doesn’t,” Dean grimaces, “but… yeah, ditto.” 

“I’m holding up the plane and people are beginning to look irritated.” 

“Alright, go, dude.” 

“I didn’t want to leave when things…” he trails off, and Dean thinks he’s possibly having an argument with someone at the departure gate, and his life is basically a chick flick right now, only one with more gay people. “Dean, if leaving will make things worse –” 

“Just come back,” Dean says, running his left hand through his hair to stop him from wrapping around himself, “You don’t, I’m gonna kick your ass.” 

“I’m going to hang up now,” Cas announces, and then he’s gone. He feels less like putting his fist through the dry wall than he did twenty minutes ago, but he doesn’t really feel any better about the situation. It’s more that he’s just resigned himself to things being shitty for the foreseeable future. 

“So,” Dean says, stretching out his hands in the entrance to the kitchen in ‘who knew’ gesture that is supposed to demonstrate that Dean doesn’t care, not one bit. “Cas is going to Philadelphia.” Sam is giving him a look that clearly indicates he doesn’t buy his couldn’t care less attitude at all, but that he’s going to be sympathetic to Dean’s emotional trauma and not call him out on his bullshit. “I need to call Ellen.” 

His voice cracks slightly when he’s trying to explain to Ellen, despite his attempt at nonchalance, and she’s not as obliging as Sam. It answers his unvoiced question about whether Sam told her they were arguing. Clearly, he did. “You need the night off, Dean?” Ellen asks him and, shit, he really does. He needs to catch a break. 

He’d been living under the slight delusion that having Cas in his life made his life easier, and he’s just realised that it doesn’t. Cas is a massive complication who makes splitting his time up twelves times more difficult and makes him want things that he doesn’t have the luxury of having. Hell, Cas even manages to make bartending more complicated, because Dean spends half the time making sure Cas isn’t about to accidentally make anyone else cry, or taking ‘on the rocks’ literally or whatever else. He doesn’t make it easier as much as he makes it better, and easier to put up with. It’s distinction enough, but it means that Dean hadn’t exactly factored in dealing with Cas’ family drama and running his errands in a crisis. He wants to do those things, sure, but there’s only so much of himself he has left to give. 

He’d beginning to put faith in the idea that maybe it could all work out, and now he feels like he’s had the rug pulled out from under his feet again. And he’s tired. He’s been tired for weeks. He doesn’t know how the hell he managed to keep this schedule up before Ellen and Pam capped his hours, because he’s struggling right now. 

“You’d be two men down,” 

“So that’s a yes,” Ellen says, “Been awhile before I got behind the bar myself, I’ve been missing it. And Castiel is more of a hindrance than a help. We’ll be fine. ” 

“Ellen you’re a beautiful woman.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ellen says, “Save the flattery for the customers, Dean. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“You’re taking a night off?” Sam asks, jaw slack and staring. He’s probably having a stroke over the fact that Dean Winchester, his slutty brother, is taking a night off because he had a fight with his boyfriend. Well, no, that’s not fair and he knows it isn’t, but he hasn’t felt like being fair for days. And it’s not even about the fight anymore. He just took one problem in his brain and extrapolated till it took over his whole fucking life, and now he can’t shift his bad mood. 

“I kinda fucked my arm again by punching Benny too hard,” 

It’s partially true. 

“You’re an idiot,” Sam says. He hasn’t eaten his food because he was waiting for Dean to get off the phone, and now he surveys the lukewarm food looking semi-dubious. 

“You want pizza?” 

“Hell yeah I want pizza, Sammy, what kind of question is that? It’s like you don’t know me at all.” Sam accepts his forced enthusiasm without comment, and busies himself putting their abandoned dinner in the fridge. “You got homework? Wanna marathon watch Game of Thrones or something? Charlie forced the boxset one ‘cause she has a crush on the blonde chick.” 

“It’s supposed to have some really interesting politics in,” Sam says. 

“Nerd,” Dean shoots back, but he feels a little better already. Charlie said something similar. That and about the blonde chick. “Homework?” 

“It’s all in for after the weekend,” Sam says, “You?” 

“Uh, I have French, but I’m pretty sure I’m dropping it.” 

“Because of your argument with Cas?” 

“No, Sam, because I suck at it, and because I need a break, and because I’m frigging exhausted. I’m gonna do an extra semester next year instead. I sorted it with Missouri on Monday, I just…” 

“That’s great, Dean!” Sam says, beaming. 

“Bitch,” Dean says, narrowing his eyes, because no one should be that excited about Dean dropping a class. He can hear the cogs in Sam’s brain turning over to the conclusion that Dean’s finally looking after himself, and that’s not really what Dean wants to do right now. He’s resisting the urge to do something really stupid and he wants a cigarette so bad it’s hard to concentrate on anything else. 

Sam orders the pizza and then tries to pay for it, and the only compromise Dean can manage to get to is that Dean pays for the pizza and takes some of the pain medication he was given for his arm (the Doctor had said he was allowed to take it if he screwed it again as long as he didn’t drive or operate any machinery etc. etc. …) and doesn’t let himself get beaten up by Victor for at least a week. Sam labelled this as ‘strenuous activity’ and Dean makes a comment about how Cas is away, so he’ll probably be fine, and he gets a bitchface and one of the white pills shoved into his hand. 

He gets to tease Sam about Becky and Game of Thrones is really fucking good. It’s violet enough to curb the edge of his bad mood, and watching Sam’s discomfort during the sex seasons is kind of hilarious (probably only because Dean's there, honestly). The drugs kick in halfway through the pizza and eases over the pretty much self-inflicted pain and his general achiness, but that’s actually okay. It’s nice to do something sort of dumb and get to block out the consequences for a little bit. He texts Charlie about how bad ass Daenerys is and how he reckons Ned Stark has got this covered, and he texts Benny about what the doc said about strenuous activity as insurance against himself. He texts Cas something vaguely soppy and then makes Sam confiscate his phone before he can embarrass himself any further. He doesn’t remember the pain killers making him feel quite so light before, but back then Dean was just _heavy_ all round, and he’s not sure how often he took them anyway. 

Cas probably thinks he’s high. He doesn’t know whether that’s a good thing or not. 

“Are you high?” Sam asks, which means he probably said that last bit was probably out loud. Perfect. 

“This is really good pizza, Sammy.” 

“Yeah, okay, Dean.” Sam grins, nudging him with his shoulder and putting on the next episode. It’s late, but Sam is straight A nerd student and sometimes he could use to be a little more like Dean and actually live a little. He should get in trouble (but not too much trouble) and get a girlfriend and go to parties and shit. He has the capacity to be the cool kid if he’d only lighten up a bit. Dean spends far too much time worrying about being a good role model he forgets that he’s supposed to be the corrupting big brother too. 

“You wanna a beer, Sammy?” 

“Last I checked I was sixteen,” 

“So?” Dean asks, grabbing two, and bringing them back over to the sofa. Arya is learning how to sword fight and Sansa is whining on screen, and Dean feels good. It’s mostly down to the drugs, but quality time with Sam is frigging precious. “I’m your guardian. Have a beer. And give me my phone, Sam.” 

“Whatever,” Sam says, and swaps Dean’s phone for the beer; he frowns slightly at the taste but takes another delicate sip anyway. Dean’s only gonna let him have one, and Sam’s gigantic enough at this point that it’s not gonna make a damn bit of difference, so he’s not being totally irresponsible. He does need to get Sam drunk at some point, for amusements sake. Maybe Christmas. 

He texts Cas again. He’ll still be on the plane, but he’ll get them when he touches down. If he survives another fucking flight, because Dean’s still not convinced aeroplanes can possibly be safe. He texts Cas to remind him not to die and to pay attention to the emergency exit information. He hopes Cas thinks he’s taking the piss. 

He probably needs to stop texting Cas. 

“It’s past your bedtime,” Dean says, stealing one of the remaining slices of Sam’s pizza. It’s got vegetables on and its’ cold and he’s pretty full, but he eats it anyway. 

“So?” Sam asks. 

“I’ll drink to that,” Dean says, leaning over to clink his beer against Sam’s. “Y’know you’re my best friend too right, Sammy?” 

“Yeah,” Sam says, “I know.” 

It’s not exactly the evening he was expecting to have, but it’s pretty damn good anyway. 

* 

His bedside clock says it’s half six AM and his phone is blaring out AC/DC. He grapples for it just to shut it up and wonders why the ever fuck he thought that was a good ring tone, because he’s probably ruined Hells Bells for himself forever. “Huh?” He manages after he’s answered, which he only did because his hit the wrong button. He’d fully intended to reject the call. 

“Hello Dean,” 

“Cas,” Dean mutters, voice thick with sleep, “What you calling me so early for?” 

“It’s half past eight.” 

“Jesus,” Dean mutters, rubbing his eyes, “Time zones, Cas.” 

“Oh,” Cas says, and Dean can just imagine his expression of dejection. How Cas can be such a genius and so dumb at the same time, he really doesn’t know. “My phone must have updated time zones automatically. I could call back later?” 

Cas’ phone voice has always been something of a wonder. He’s not really sure how he was so dense about the fact that he was attracted to the guy when they were doing their long distance friendship thing, because he’s pretty sure every time Cas talks to him on the phone he loses a whole minute preoccupied with vaguely dirty thoughts about his _voice_. It’s like a post coital cigarette voice, all rough and deep and a hundred percent sex. Cas sounds like he smokes twenty a day and drinks whiskey for breakfast and it’s such a frigging incredible juxtaposition with his talk about library books. He could listen to Cas recite the bible and still find it sexy. Has, in fact, although it was whilst he was translating it from Enochian and Dean’s not sure if it’s just Cas, or if that language is the sexiest occult language of all time. He’s pretty sure Cas speaking Enochian to a wide audience would be enough to make it mainstream. 

“I’m awake now. Just… keep talking.” Dean mutters, shifting under his covers and closing his eyes again. He’s comfortable, he’s just woken up and it’s too early to be mad about ex-boyfriends and keeping secrets; that can wait until after the suns actually risen. 

“You finish at the Roadhouse at three.” 

“Had a night off,” Dean says, “Full recommend eight hours sleep. Keep talking.” 

It was probably closer to five and a half after they finally turned off the television, but Cas doesn’t need to know that. 

“You had a night off,” Cas says, flat. He’s probably already decided that’s his fault, and that borders on a whole load of things that Dean doesn’t want to talk or think about currently. 

“You know, Cas, I reckon you should scrap bartending and start your own sex line,” Dean says, voice still hoarse from sleep, “Wouldn’t have to do much. Just stay on the line and read the phone directory while people get off to your voice. I mean, fuck Cas, you sound like…” Dean turns over again, pressing the phone closer to his ear, “It’s Thursday, dude, you should be here. I need you.” 

“Technically, it is now Friday.” 

“Yep,” Dean breathes, “Keep talking.” 

“I found several of your text messages concerning.” 

“Uhuh,” 

“Particularly the text message assuring me that you weren’t high.” 

“You should make waking me up worth my while,” Dean says, in part because he doesn’t want to think about the other things he wrote in those text messages, or to explain that he did something stupid again, but mostly just because he’s warm and sleepy and Cas’ voice is washing him over like a comfort blanket, only with added bonus of arousal. “Talk dirty to me, baby.” His voice is tinted with amusement but he kinda means it; he doesn’t want to get off so much as he just wants to listen to Cas talking whilst he’s comfy and warm and sedately happy, which won’t last when his brain kicks into gear. 

“Dean I’m – ” There’s a hitch of breath and Cas fumbling with the phone, “Dean, I’m at a pay phone.” 

The laughter is unexpected. It bubbles up in his chest before he has a chance to smother it in a pillow, and he chokes on it instead. Of course Cas is at a fucking payphone, and now he has this image of Cas in a phone booth in his damn trench coat with a semi at half eight in the morning. He probably looks like a frigging serial killer or some kind of sex offender and it cuts through the remaining mist of his bad mood and right to his chest, and he feels light again. 

“Fuck, Cas, you’re perfect,” Dean’s grinning, sitting up in bed, “You wearing your trench coat? I need a visual for this.” 

“I left it behind,” 

“Shit, you must have been in a rush,” Dean says, and then he’s laughing again. “Why are you at a pay phone, Cas?” 

“I left my phone charger at home,” Cas says. Dean’s pulling on a shirt and reaching for his cigarettes (he hasn’t had one since his argument with Cas but he still wants one now, so it doesn’t count as stress smoking so he’s going to let it slide; besides, everyone’s asleep and Cas is miles away, so he can just pretend it never happened), whilst Cas is retelling the story of how this whole disaster came to be in the first place. 

Apparently, Cas went straight from Dean’s on Wednesday to the library, and promptly fell asleep till closing time when Nora the librarian, who thinks he’s called Steve for reasons undetermined, woke him up to chuck him out. And because Cas is a full time nerd and probably because he wanted the essay done before he came over Thursday night (same as Dean tried to deal with his residual anger before then), he drove to an a 24/7 coffee shop to continue with the essay, and then went straight on to his lectures. He got home with two and a half hours to pack, get to Kansas City Airport and check in, and somehow managed it by speeding most of the way and holding up the plane whilst he was going through security, only to get out his phone and call him from the departure gate. Cas’ delivery is deadpan and dead on as ever, and Dean’s laughing again by the time he’s leaning against the impala and lighting his cigarette. 

“I made it to Philadelphia with two pairs of underwear, and one of them is yours.” 

“Talking ‘bout wearing my underwear in a phone booth, Cas? We’ll get you dirty talking yet.” The old woman from the apartment directly below his is taking out her bin and looking at him like he’s some kind of devil worshipper, sat on his classic car, smoking and talking loud enough for her to hear his half of the conversation, and he offers her a grin. He guesses quarter to seven is a little early to be talking about phone sex outside his apartment building, all things considered. 

“I appear to have seventeen odd socks.” 

“Any pairs?” 

“One, possibly. They’re black, so it’s difficult to determine. Dean, your text messages…” 

“Cas, I don’t even know what I said,” He takes a deep breath and explains about messing up his arm by punching Benny to hard and about being sort of high on painkillers (Mrs Downstairs is dawdling by her bin to carry on eavesdropping, and she looks suitably horrified). Cas is guilty and serious on the other end of the phone, so Dean takes another drag of his cigarette for strength. The nicotine rush is a beautiful thing. He’d forgotten about how glorious morning cigarettes were. “Forget about it, Cas, what I wanna know is whether Gabriel’s strip club bought you a first class ticket.” 

He's purposefully fucking with Mrs Downstairs now. 

“It did not,” 

“Pity,” Dean says, “You ever been to a strip club, Cas?” 

“Dean.” 

“What? They have male strip clubs too. I betcha Gabriel runs at least one gay strip club.” 

“This is not what I called to talk about,” Dean laughs again. Mrs Downstairs has given up her pretence and is out and out staring at him. “You sound more cheerful than you did last night.” 

“Considering you woke me up at six and wouldn’t even give me a verbal blow job, you mean?” He winks at Mrs Downstairs. Apparently that’s the tipping point, because she stops pretending to be busy, gives him a disapproving glare then heads back to the stairwell. “Yeah, I dunno, I got to hang out with Sam and skive off work and I mean… I’m still pissed, Cas, don’t get me wrong, but that’s not the pressing issue here. You okay?” 

“I’m fine, Dean,” 

“Cause leaving essays till a week before the deadline aint exactly your MO, babe. The sudden unexpected trips across the country, sure, but _leaving_ your library books? Shit, dude,” Dean stubs out his cigarette and considers lighting another one but decides against it. He’s still got eleven left from the twenty pack he bought a few weeks ago, and there’s no point damning all his quitting efforts to hell for nothing. He wonders, abstractly, if Cas would pitch a fit if he smoked after sex. Probably. “You talked to Anna yet?” 

“I messaged her on the number Gabriel gave me.” 

“Go easy on her, yeah? People tend to be a bit thrown when their long lost siblings randomly appear in the middle of their lives,” Dean says, shoving the pack of cigarettes back into his pocket, “You gotta call me before you see her.” 

“Where are you?” Cas asks, evidentially hearing the door of the apartment building click close. “Are you still in bed?” 

“Uh, no. Went out for some fresh air,” Dean says, and they both know that’s code for a smoke, “You got the number for Pam’s? ‘Case you need to call me whilst I’m on shift.” 

“I’m fine, Dean.” 

“Yeah, sure, you’re awesome, but I’d feel better if you took the number,” Dean says, key in the lock and pushing back into their apartment, “So suck it up, Cas, for me. You got a pen?” 

“Dean, I failed to pack adequate clothing and underwear. I do not have a pen.” 

“I’ll text it to you later.” 

“I’m running out of coins,” 

“Fuck,” Dean says, and he’s nearly laughing again, “You could’ve bought a phone charger for the price of this conversation, Cas.” 

“None of the shops were open.” 

“Alright, well, let’s not drain your piggy bank. And rain check on the phone sex, yeah?” Of course, it’s then when he turns around to see that Sam’s up and bitchfacing at the toaster, but it’s not like Dean knew he was in the kitchen. He waggles his eyebrows at Sam to save face, because it’s better than being embarrassed in front of his little brother. “And for future reference, minus two hours.” 

“I do understand time zones, Dean,” Cas complains. “I just… failed to implement my knowledge this morning. I’ll call you later.” 

“Okay,” Dean agrees, and then Cas hangs up. Sam’s making coffee and wearing his nerdy running shorts. He’s impressed at his brother’s dedication to running after their late night of marathon TV watching, especially as Dean’s not allowed to go with him, but then Sam’s always been pretty focused. He forgets that John used to keep him up late to research stuff for jobs whilst he and Dean got their hands dirty, and Sam had gotten straight As through all of it. 

“Kissed and made up?” 

“Not exactly,” Dean says, stealing Sam’s coffee with a grin, “But we’ll be okay.” 

“All right,” Sam says, pouring another cup of coffee with an eye roll. His voice is off though and for all his talk, Sam isn’t that complicated. Dean can tell when there’s something he wants to say and isn’t from a mile off. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” Sam says, slinking off with his coffee. 

“Sam,” Dean interjects, “What’s up?” 

“I just,” Sam says, sighing, “One conversation and you’re all okay? Dean, you’ve been in an awful mood all fucking week, and now Cas is in Philadelphia and it’s all sunshine and daisies?” 

“So what are you saying?” 

“I’m saying it’s pretty screwed that Cas leaving has _helped_ with your stupid argument,” Sam says, “It’s none of my business, I guess, except that I _live_ with you.” 

“I’m still pissed at Cas, Sam,” Dean counters, “Pretty sure he’s pissed at me too, but whatever. And I’m sorry I’ve been a jerk, okay? But that’s not all on this stuff with Cas.” 

“So what’s it about?” Sam asks, hands curved around his coffee and looking up at him. He needed a haircut like four months ago. Dean has the money set aside for it but Sam won’t go, and he’s still trying to work out whether it’s cause he’s trying to save Dean money or that he actually likes it, because he wouldn’t put either of those past his little brother. He looks young moodily staring Dean down; he’s like the archetype for teenage defiance. “And I know you’ve just been smoking.” 

“I… yeah, okay,” Dean says, sucking in a breath. The guardian probably shouldn’t be called out on smoking by the kid, so he at least owes Sam a bit of honesty. “I’m tired and I miss hanging out with you, Sammy, and I miss Cas all the god damn time, because there’s not enough hours in the day. I forgot how much I hate college most days of the week and I fucking _hate_ hovering and French homework and being exhausted all the time, and then Cas’ family stuff is just whacked, and then the stupid argument just tipped me over the edge, okay? I just needed a night off and some quality Sam time. I’m good, Sammy, I swear. I’m not gonna do anything stupid.” 

“Okay,” Sam says, blinking at him. He looks mostly surprised that Dean actually told him, but it figures. Sam needs to know a bit of what’s going on in his head or he’ll worry, and he hasn’t exactly been nice to co-habit with for the past week. “Just… don’t shut me out, Dean. You can’t just fob me off with some line like Dad used to and then tell me it’s all okay, because I know it’s not. I thought we were a team.” 

“Hell yeah we are,” Dean says, ruffling up Sam’s hair. “Winchesters against the world. We should get it on a t-shirt, if they do gigantor sizes.” 

“I’m still shorter than you,” Sam says, petulant. 

“Just about,” Dean says, “Figures Mom was right ‘bout you being tall one day.” 

“Cas is supposed to make you happy,” Sam says, and Dean balks at the sudden conversation jump, or more, reversion. Sam’s frowning into his coffee and his shoulders are slumped downwards and, Jesus, he’s still a sixteen year old kid. He’s doing a good impression of his five year old self, though, with the downward tilt to his lips and the disappointed puppy dog eyes, like he just realised John Winchester wasn’t coming home for Christmas and Dean can’t do a damn thing to fix it. 

“Aw, hell, Sam,” Dean mutters, hand going up to the back of his neck. Sam had known Cas was into him from the off, and had pushed him to Dean best he could. It figures that his brother’s bought into the Disney happy endings Hallmark crap and, honestly, it’s just remarkable that his brother’s naivety has lasted through the death of two parents and Dean’s near mental breakdown, it really is. “That’s not really how it works,” he swallows, because he hates this kind of shit, “I am happy, okay? Most of the time, but relationships don’t save people, Sam, not outside movies. Life still kinda sucks sometimes. People argue. And forget Cas a sec, cause I don’t _need_ Cas to make me happy, okay? I’ve got you. The others too. I’m good, Sammy, things are good.” 

“I just thought Cas might be the turning point, I guess.” 

“Just because he’s a bit of a dick sometimes doesn’t mean he isn’t. I’m an asshole most of the time and he hasn’t written me off yet,” Dean says, “Quit worrying, Sam, I can handle it.” 

“Okay,” Sam says, looking slightly happier but still not the long haired ray of sunshine Dean would like. “I better head off.” 

“I gotta go hand in Cas’ essay for him,” Dean says, “So I’ll catch you later. Enjoy school, bitch. Don’t work too hard.” 

“Don’t pull something trying to smile all day. You're out of practice.” Sam shoots back, taking a single gulp of his coffee before dumping the mug in the sink and heading for the door. 

He heads out to Cas’ place before Sam gets back from his run. 

For all that Cas' apartment is currently a dive, it's at least testament to how last minute Cas’ trip to Philadelphia actually was. 

Cas’ stupid book bag is dumped next to the sofa (with the essay and the library books inside, which at least saves him the effort of searching for them) and he finds the other halves to most of Cas’ odd socks near the coffee table. There’s an upturned cup of coffee in the sink and a milk carton left out on the side, so Dean figures he dumped his stuff and made himself coffee whilst opening up the post before everything got kinda crazy. He’s theory’s confirmed when Dean finds the envelope his tickets were in next to the sink, then freezes when he realises the envelope's not quite empty; there’s still a return ticket to Philadelphia in there. He spends a whole minute thinking that Cas had somehow left his ticket and blagged his way onto the flight before he catches up, realising with a jolt of horror that Gabriel must have bought him two. 

Cas hadn’t mentioned it. 

He can’t quite work out if he was trying to be kind (because, yeah, there wasn’t a chance in hell Dean could take a week off work, or a week away from Sam, as much as he’d have wanted to make sure Cas was okay and keep him company), or if it was a throwback from the argument and Cas just plan didn’t want him there. 

He screws up the fucking thing and is halfway to binning it when he puts it in his pocket instead. He’s trying to focus on the phone call from this morning rather than the argument before to convince himself everything’s okay, but it’s chased away a little of his residue good mood. He’s not about to start slamming doors and snapping at people again, but his cheeriness has thinned out. 

Pausing in the doorway to Cas’ bedroom, he figures, to hell with it, and winds up shoving Cas’ laundry in a duffle bag he left there at some point. He’ll bring it back before Cas gets home, but the idea of coming home to such a mess is semi-repellent, and Dean still has a while before he has to be at work. He strips his bed and remakes it, leaving the sheets in the laundry basket because there are _lines_. He winds up crossing one when he catches sight of the trench coat dumped on the back of the sofa, though; it’s not dirty laundry and he can’t find a single reason to justify picking it up, but he’s still feeling semi-insecure and the unused ticket is weighing heavily in his pocket, so he shoves it under his arm anyway. 

He decides to not think too much about it when he folds it in the trunk of the Impala, because it makes him feel like he’s treading water rather than drowning, and he doesn’t know when he became such a frigging sap, anyway. 

* 

After four days of thrice daily phone calls, he’s gets nothing from Monday onwards. 

He tries to convince himself that Cas is probably just having a nice time with Anna, but when Wednesday evening rolls around and he hasn’t got so much as a text to tell him when he’s touching back down in Kansas, Dean’s beginning to worry. Well, no, he began to worry at noon on Monday, but he’s been too damn proud to admit it to himself or start racking up the number of missed calls on Cas’ phone. He didn’t leave a message the three times he did call him, twice Monday and once Wednesday lunchtime, but three isn’t exactly a respectful number, anyway. It’s needy. Sure, Dean’s gotten to the double figures with Sam on a number of occasions, but that’s different. And he sent him four texts messages too. It’s not like he hasn’t made an effort. 

It’s his night off from the Roadhouse (it happened to fall on a Wednesday; probably Ellen’s doing, if he’s honest about it) and if Cas doesn’t show, which he might not, he’s got a whole evening of Sam sending him pitying looks and glancing at Dean’s phone as often as Dean is, which is about every thirty seconds. Either Cas is on a flight or somewhere in Kansas or not coming back and he has no idea which. 

Dean’s more or less convinced himself that Cas had decided to move to Philadelphia or that the whole thing was a cover and he’s actually in Baltimore with Balthadouche (unlikely, he’ll admit), when there’s the sound of a key scraping in the lock, keys dropping and then, third time lucky, the door actually opening. 

“Hello Dean, Sam.” 

“Hi Cas,” Sam says, unsure as he glances at Dean. It’s probably a mix of the revelation that Cas has a key (he forgot he hadn’t drip fed Sam that update yet) and the fact that Cas has very obviously been drinking that throws Sam off. Clearly, Cas was not having a nice time with Anna. 

“You drive here like that?” Dean asks, standing up and locking the door, because Cas didn’t do such a great job of opening it and doesn’t look capable as doing something as complicated as shutting it again. Anyway, it gives him a good excuse to wind up in Cas’ personal space, even if it’s just to assess how drunk Cas actually is. If the slight swaying and the stench of alcohol is anything to go by, the answer is very. The reversion into drinking-to-deal-with-things isn’t exactly welcome, but he still feel this detached relief over the fact that at least Cas is here, now, instead of somewhere in the wind. 

But if Cas has decided to add drink driving to his resume, there’s going to be yelling. 

“I got a taxi,” 

“From the airport?” 

“From a bar,” Cas deadpans, which tells him just about everything he needs to know. Dean swallows down a lump of guilt over his lack of effort in tracking Cas down, but he’s not quite over the ex-boyfriend saga thing. They haven’t really had a chance to talk it out yet, so instead it’s just been festering. Cas probably thought himself into a corner where Dean was still pissed enough not to want to hear from him, especially if things had been going wrong. 

“All right, hotshot, let’s get you some coffee,” Dean says, dragging him over to the sofa. Sam’s already up and heading to the kitchen, and he really wishes Sam wasn’t here to see this, but at least he’s probably got the coffee situation under control. 

“I’m fine, Dean.” 

“Oh yeah,” Dean mutters, “You’re fucking perfect. You wanna tell me why you drank a liquor store instead of coming straight home?” 

“It’s Wednesday,” Cas deadpans, “I’m not supposed to be here. It’s not on the schedule. You don't want me on Wednesdays.” 

His voice is more obviously amused than usual, but Dean can’t quite get a read on whether it’s the ironic sort of amused serving as a thin layer covering the fact that Cas’ chest is breaking, or if he’s actually just taking the piss. He settles on the former because Cas is still frowning and blinking up at him with those stupidly blue eyes, like Dean is some kind of salvation, and because Cas is literal and sort of stupid sometimes. 

“Fuck the schedule,” Dean snaps, voice rising, “You’re welcome here whenever they hell you want. Right, Sam?” 

“Of course, Cas,” Sam says, returning from the kitchen with coffee and a glass of water. Sam’s played out this routine with John and Dean a few times over (although usually the morning after, not so much in the middle of the damn night), and the thought isn’t exactly comfortable. 

Cas bloops his nose. Jesus. 

“I think I’m gonna go out,” Sam says, as Cas continues prodding Dean’s face like it’s fucking hilarious, or something. He’s all octopus arms and he smells like Jägermeister and he’s saying something about bees which Dean is a hundred percent not listening to. It’d be sort of cute if he could dissociate the drunkenness away from the reason why Cas got drunk (alone) and then got a cab here, after not contacting him for three long fucking days. 

“Where?” Dean asks, only it’s hard to pull off his helicopter parent routine when Cas is, like, trying to memorise his face with his hands or something. As much as it would be really convenient for Sam to be _not_ here, it’s a school night and he’s not having Sam chased out of his own home, so he’s battling through this conversation, Cas man handling his face be damned. If he lets his duty to Cas overrule his duty of care to Sam, he’s already screwed the pooch in the eyes of the law and the CPS and his whole family, let alone what their deceased father would say. Let alone the fact that he'd feel so guilty about it it'd probably ruin his relationship with Cas and Sam in one swoop; that would be the frigging grenade, all right. 

“Jess’ house.” 

“Jess?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Sam says, blushing slightly, “She’s helping me with this science project,” 

“Someone’s helping _you_ with a science project?” Dean asks. “Wow, you been slacking off or something?” 

“Shut up, Dean,” 

Cas looks suspiciously like he’s going to move from his nose to a nipple, which is so not in the realms of okay. Dean grabs his wrists pre-emptively. “She hot?” Dean asks, risking looking away from Cas and back to his brother, who’s suitably flushed. Cas uses that moment to escape his wrist lock, though, and Dean curses. “We can talk about this later,” Dean decides, because this whole thing is awkward as fuck, and because he sort of wants to film Cas’ handsy routine and return to it without the context, when he can just laugh about what an adorable dork Cas is. 

“Yeah,” Sam says, “Good luck.” 

He’s probably gonna need it. 

“Back before ten, you hear me?” Dean calls after him, but Sam’s response is lost in the movement of Sam shutting the door and locking it behind him. He’d liked to know where Jess lives and whether her parents are in and what time he’s coming home, but Sam will give him the low down later. He can trust Sam not to make him worry any further this evening. 

Cas blinks at him. 

“Well aren’t you the cutest drunk in the garrison,” Dean mutters, pressing the coffee into Cas’ hand. He wants it to be funny and for Cas to just be an idiot who misjudged his limit, but they’re not college students and Cas hasn’t been to some party. 

“Anna used to refer to our family as a garrison,” Cas says, obliging him by taking a sip of his coffee, “On account of our angelic names. I always wondered whether she felt left out.” The humour is still present in his voice, but it reminds him a little of the bitter, twisted way that Gabriel had talked about Michael. 

“Well, she was the only girl,” Dean says. 

“She changed her surname to Milton, in reference to author of Paradise Lost. Fallen angels, Dean. Lucifer bullied her into having an abortion and she commemorated him in her new identity. It’s hilarious.” 

“Gabriel said she had a miscarriage,” 

“Yes,” Cas says, “That’s what she told him and I’m sure that’s what he wishes to believe. It's less uncomfortable.” 

“And she told you different, huh?” 

“I was closest to Anna,” Cas says, and another gulp of coffee disappears down his throat. Dean pulls him slightly closer to him on the sofa, because this is dangerous territory and Cas is scary like this; blooping his nose one minute and the next dark laughter, and he doesn’t like it. He wants to make everything okay but it’s so far above his pay grade and he doesn't know how. “She used to confide in me. I can still tell when she’s lying,” Cas sways forward, and Dean reaches out to save the coffee before it winds up all over the both of them, and pulls Cas into his chest. Cas doesn’t try to reach out and touch him, now, or even hug him back; instead, he has Cas’ dead weight slumped against him. “She spent the year I was studying theology and fucking Balthazar in a psychiatric hospital. It’s all very ironic, Dean, I was discovering myself and losing my religion whilst she was losing her identity and having religious delusions about angels speaking to her.” 

Anna had seemed okay in the brief time that Dean had chatter to her. He knows this is the kind of crap you can’t see from one look, but it’s still pretty fucking shocking. He doesn’t know whether he hates Michael or Lucifer any more, but he still has the benefit of a certain detachment to the events; its’ Cas’ pain that cuts through him, sharp and awful and he can’t fix it. 

Hell, he’d drink if he got that kind of news delivered. Probably even someone as straight laced as Sam would. 

“Why didn’t you call me?” Dean asks, quiet. 

“And say what?” Cas asks, “That my sister has been having a psychotic episode whilst I hated her for abandoning me and disobeying Michael’s orders, because I didn’t understand. And that I yelled at her over some stupid misunderstanding because I can’t control my temper and –” 

“– hold it there, Cas,” Dean interrupts, running a thumb over the edge of his jaw. “This sucks. This fucking bombs. But it is not your fault. You did your best with the info you had, all right?” 

“I always _do my best_ , Dean, and it never works.” 

“Come on, Cas,” Dean says. 

“Dean,” Cas says, voice imploring and half desperate, “You damaged your arm and skipped worked and started smoking again –” 

“Jesus, Cas, you and Sam should form a tag team. I had _a_ fucking cigarette. I haven’t started anything. You can’t take it as a personal failure every time I screw up, Cas, I’m a god damn mess. You’ll kill yourself with guilt before Christmas.” He runs his fingers over Cas’ hairline, tracing out the lines of Cas’ face. “Sure, the arm thing was dumb, but I was sparring with Benny, Cas, it could have happened any time. And I thought you all liked it when I took time off.” 

“You’re angry at me.” 

“Yeah, I’m pissed that you think its okay not to call me because of some dumb argument and I’m pissed that you’re now trying to find answers at the bottom of a bottle. And yeah, I’m pissed about Balthazar, but none of that competes with the fact that I’m _worried_ about you. This is heavy duty shit, Cas, don’t add me to the list of things you’re stressing out over. Bottom line, end of the world, when this shit starts coming, I’m here, okay?” 

“I think the last shots are beginning to take effect.” 

“Smart strategic move with that,” Dean mutters, rolling his eyes, “Let’s get you to bed, Angel.” 

Cas _is_ getting drunker and more uncoordinated, coffee be damned, and the only way he can reasonably think of getting him to bed is to half carry him. He doesn’t want Sam to get back and find him passed out on the sofa because it’s a little too familiar a situation and, anyway, he’s not leaving Cas alone and they won’t both fit comfortably. 

He detangles himself to put two glasses of water and Tylenol on the bedside table before coming back from Cas. Manoeuvring him is every bit as awkward as Dean suspected it would be. He still hasn’t gotten round to asking how Cas has runner muscles when he’s never seen him do any form of exercise, ever (unless sex counts? He’s not sure about that), but he knows from plenty of experience they’re there. So, instead of the skinny bookworm he should by all rights be, Cas is kinda heavy: not so heavy that Dean can’t lift him, but he’s heavy and uncooperative enough that it’s still frigging difficult. 

Cas tries to help a bit but it turns out his main agenda is making sure Dean is pulled onto his bed too, grabbing hold of Dean’s shirt and refusing to let go. Dean isn’t really inclined to argue, to be honest, because he’s tried and this whole thing is such a clusterfuck. He winds up with a face full of Cas’ neck, on top of his covers, with Cas’ arms wrapped around his back. There are worse fates. 

“Whatever, that works,” Dean mutters, shifting slightly so that less of his weight is on Cas lest he squash the guy, but without altering the lack of space between them. Cas follows the heat of his body anyway, turning into his space till they're roughly on their sides, clutching one another. “If you’re gonna throw up, aim for me or the carpet. There’s a two hundred dollar fine for fucking up the mattress.” 

“You’d rather I threw up on you.” 

“Well, no, I’d rather we were fucking in some swanky hotel on egyptian cotton sheets in, I don’t know, italy or some shit. And you could speak Italian and I could stuff my face with pizza and fancy coffee and lick Italian ice cream off your abs, but that aint exactly an option. And if it’s a toss-up between you chucking up on me and two hundred dollars, I’m taking the vomit.” 

“That was very romantic, Dean.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Cas,” Dean mutters, but he slips his hand under Cas’ shirt and searches out for the skin of his hips anyway. His hands fit nicely there. It's familiar. 

Dean’s wearing too many layers for it to possibly be comfortable to sleep in, and Cas smells like the backside of the brewery, but he has been meaning to get an early night for the past two decades and it’s not like he’s unfamiliar with smell of alcohol. They’re still sort of arguing and there’s at least fifteen separate conversations they need to have, but that can wait. 

Cas buries his face in Dean's shoulder and mutters something else virtually incoherent about the bees, which is at least a lighter conversation topic than anything to do with Cas' crazy ass family. 

It can definitely wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter got long...


	33. Chapter 33

By the time he wakes up, he really regrets tipping them into bed full dressed, because his shirts stuck to him, his jeans are uncomfortable and he’s having a flashback to the period of time where crashing fully clothed after a night of driving or running from something was the norm. Course, back then he’d never had a dude in a shirt and slacks still clinging onto him, even after however many hours of sleep (impressive, because Dean generally moves around a lot in the night), but that’s a different kind of familiar. 

Cas certainly has the monopoly on his experiences of waking up next to someone. He’s certainly never done the lazy morning in bed thing before Cas insisted upon it… and it’s off putting how much he’s missed Cas’ presence in the morning, even when he’s usually asleep and on the other side of the bed. 

He’s awake right now. 

“Hey,” Dean mutters. Cas is blinking at him and Dean kisses him, because he didn’t do that last night or last week or even when they were at Charlie’s, which is a frigging long time. It’s not like back when they were desperately sleeping together instead of talking when he was scared of losing something they barely even had, because there’s no particular heat to it. Cas is definitely more vulnerable screw up than hot right now, but Dean’s really fucking missed him. This. It’s just comfort and reassuring himself that Cas is there, and solid, and isn’t about to leave him for god damn Balthazar. Cas curls a hand around his neck and kisses him back, dragging it out, morning breath be damned. It’s vaguely unpleasant in a couple of ways tied up in falling asleep fully dressed without brushing their teeth and after Cas drank half a liquor store, but mostly it just feels like concentrated relief and closeness and comfort. He pulls back because Cas is tracing circles on the back of his neck with his thumb like the weird dude he is, and he’d wondering whether Cas maybe had his eyes open too which, he concludes, yes, he does. “We really need to teach you how to human,” Dean says, and kisses him again, just because. 

“Dean,” Cas mutters, twisting his fingers into the material of Dean’s shirt using it as purchase to hold him there. 

“Castiel,” Dean shoots back, because he’s an ass and it looks like Cas is going to stumble onto one of the multitude of things they have to talk about, when he doesn’t really want to. Not right now. 

“About Balthazar –” 

Moment over, then. 

“– Cas we got ninety nine problems right now, and Balthazar is only about three of them. And number one is that you really need a shower, dude, like seriously. I’m getting hints of Jäger, Tequila, beer… and you kinda smell like weed.” 

“That was the youths sitting next to me.” 

“Well good,” Dean says, “Cause I gotta draw the line somewhere.” He’s not talking about him, particularly, but Sam. Cas can probably read the fact that he didn’t really want to think about where that line had to be drawn in his tight expression, and that if he didn’t have Sam to consider, he really wouldn’t give a fuck whatever the guy smoked. Well, he’d care, obviously, but not in _that’s it_ I can’t be with you whilst you’re having this issues kinda capacity. “And you left your car there? Dude, not cool. She’s no Impala, but that doesn’t mean you can just abandon her outside some dive bar.” 

Cas sits up and then looks like he instantly regrets it. 

“I am very hungover.” 

There’s this part of Dean that wishes he could ask Cas to stow his baggage until Sam goes to college, because it would make everything so much easier. It’s one thing fitting in a relationship, but it’s another fitting in a relationship with a guy who’s in the middle of a frigging crisis, and his juggling act is pretty much fucked. He can’t begrudge Cas for freaking out, or expect him to deal with his shit just because Dean already has too many responsibilities already, and he can’t walk away and he really doesn’t want to, anyway. It’s another healthy dose of bad timing and another thing that Dean thinks has the potential to break them unless he figures out how to play this right. 

“No kidding,” Dean says, passing Cas the glass of water and the tylenol, “You actually taste like the morning after, Cas. It’s ridiculously unsexy.” 

“No one asked you to kiss me,” Cas says, his voice deeper than usual and gravely and frigging awesome. God, he’s missed him. It’s easier to admit now that Cas is right here and he knows why he was treated to the disappearing act (not that Cas’ reasoning for that is good enough, but he gets it at least). It’s outer stuff pressing in on them again. 

“Right,” Dean scoffs, “Because I’m supposed to just see you there with your damn lips parted and your bed head, blinking at me with those baby blues and not kiss you.” 

“I…” Cas pauses, blinks, then tilts his head at him like Dean’s just said something confusing, not borderline cutesy. 

“Go shower,” Dean says, pulling himself up and away from whatever it was that just slipped out of his mouth and busying himself with his phone. “I’ll start breakfast.” 

He doesn’t turn back around, but he feels Cas’ weight on the bed lift, and the door shuts behind him. Cas’ mention of Balthazar had racked up the tension levels almost instantaneously, and the easiness of this morning has already been shot to hell. He might be able to fix it but he’s not a hundred percent convinced, so he forces himself to focus on something else instead. 

Going to bed prematurely he hadn’t put his phone on charge, so it dies before he gets beyond the home screen. He gets the confirmation that Sam had text him before it powers off, though, and by his estimations the two messages should be one telling him he’s setting off home and one telling him that he’s back and going to bed, but it brings his charger into the kitchen anyway. He needs to apologise to Sam about basically driving him out of the apartment, but that’ll have to wait until tomorrow evening. 

It’s not quite seven yet, but then Cas showed up around seven the previous night, so he somehow managed to sleep for over eleven hours. 

“Morning,” Sam mutters, yawning as he steps out from his bedroom and heads from the sofa. “Cas still here?” 

The question is a bit of a loaded spring and he’s not sure whether that was Sam’s intention or not. Most likely his brother’s just too tried to work out a better way of phrasing things, but… if Cas had been anyone else (other than John Winchester) and showed up drunk and messed up in front of his little brother, he wouldn’t exactly have invited them back. And Cas is still here. 

“Shower,” Dean says, as Sam switches on the TV. His chest is tightening slightly, but he’s making an effort to act like the question was the non-descript thing Sam seems to think it was. “No running today?” 

“Nah,” 

“Good,” Dean says, “I’m putting you to work. Find some bacon, Sasquatch, I need to deliver Cas some clothes. How was your study date?” 

“Fine,” Sam says, but he stands up too quickly and hides his blush behind the fridge door, so Dean’s on a winner on that one. Jess. He’ll have to get Sam to invite her over and then crash their date, or something, because he needs to meet her stat. 

By the time Cas is out the shower, Sam is making bacon and eggs whilst Dean is air drumming along to Styx. He stops, mid drum, when he catches Cas’ eye across the room; he’s staring at him from his position in the doorway, and Dean flushes slightly about being caught in the act. 

“You did my laundry,” Cas says, looking at him with some cross between bewilderment and wonder, and it’s a little uncomfortable with Sam right there manning the frying pan. Anyway, it was just a couple of shirts and pants and it’s a good job too, because he doesn’t think Cas’ half-drawer had any pants in and Cas wasn’t exactly thinking about today’s wardrobe options when he showed up drunk off his face. 

“Guilty as charged,” 

Cas kisses him, hard, even though Sam is like _right there_ and then he’s plucked Dean’s coffee right out of his hands and crossed over to the table. He sits down with one hand running over his forehead and the other curled around Dean’s coffee, all clean and fresh again from the shower and sipping at Dean’s coffee like that’s acceptable. 

Dean’s gaping at him. 

“Dude you are so whipped,” Sam grins. 

“Can it, Samantha,” Dean shoots back, elbowing him. Sam is smiling at him though, which means that somehow Cas turning up drunk seemed to have helped Sam’s opinion of their relationship which is completely beyond Dean’s comprehension, but whatever. He’s going to have to talk to him about it at some point, though, because this is something Sam needs to know about. He’ll have questions. Damn right, too. 

“You home tonight?” 

“Cas probably wants me baby him through his hangover,” Dean says, but then he’s caught up in a moment of uncertainty. It’s entirely possible that Cas doesn’t want him there. He may or may not have not wanted him to come to Philadelphia, and he didn’t exactly rush home over once he was back in the same state. It was only a drunken crisis that had Cas showing up at his doorway, which doesn’t mean that Cas doesn’t hate him for starting an argument about Balthazar. Something that Dean regrets a bit, but not as much as he regrets the fact that Cas didn’t tell him about the god damn thing until that point; they’re pretty much at the same stalemate they were last week, only with an extra dash of drama thrown in. “Unless you just wanna sleep it off alone.” 

“We mustn’t break the schedule.” Cas’ sarcasm is punctuated by the roughness of his hangover voice, and it’d be hilarious and awesome if it wasn’t for the fact that he seems half serious about it. Dean’s pretty sure they went over how redundant the stupid schedule is. If he’d known Cas would internalise it into some bullshit ‘Dean doesn’t want me on Wednesdays’ he’d never have made it in the first place, instead trusting in the fact that Cas somehow knew what he was trying to do by instinct. Apparently that only works in the movies. 

“Dude,” Dean says, pausing, “Do you remember anything we talked about last night?” 

It’s been such a long time that he’s gotten black out drunk (not because he hadn’t tried; he just has a high tolerance) that he’d forgotten the possibility that Cas might have forgotten everything, and it doesn’t exactly sit easy with him. It was bad enough going over it the first time. He’s not keen for a repeat. 

“Italy,” 

“Great,” Dean mutters, making a face. Of all the important shit Dean said, that’s the one thing that permeated through the guy’s skull. “Anything else?” 

“Bits,” Cas says, pressing a hand into his forehead. “Sam, I apologise for… just showing up.” 

“That’s okay,” Sam says, 

“Are we still arguing?” Cas asks. Dean stares at him for a moment, lost in the fact that Cas just came out and asked that like it’s that simple. They sort of are and they sort of aren’t, and he especially doesn’t like the fact that he asked in front of Sam (who’s totally pretending not to stare somewhere in the background), because it makes everything ten times more awkward. It shouldn’t be that surprising. If he wanted someone who was good at reading social cues he should be dating frigging Missouri or whatever. 

“What do you think?” Dean asks, meeting his eyes. Cas’ lips part slightly and he looks every bit the wounded puppy, and Dean a hundred percent can’t deal with that. He can’t just _ignore_ all of this bullshit though, at least not for long, because it’s pushing in at the back of head and making feel like he can’t trust in any of this. The difference is that it’s started feeling fragile and he can’t commit himself to something that’s likely to crumble. There are consequences. “I’m going to shower.” 

“Dean, breakfast,” Sam says. 

He waves Sam away as he’s stalking off to the bathroom. It does figure that if all Cas really remembers is turning up and Dean talking about some fictional holiday they’ll never get to have, followed up by Dean waking him up and kissing him and having already done his laundry then he wouldn’t know what the hell was going on with them. He can’t really compartmentalise them into the ‘arguing’ and ‘not-arguing’ boxes that Cas seems to want though, but then Cas always tried to oversimplify this shit; either he was forgiven or he wasn’t, without the grey areas when he’s sort of forgiven him but doesn’t know if he can trust him, and mostly just wants a few answers but is too scared to listen to them. When he finally lets Cas finish the sentence ‘about Balthazar’ he doesn’t know what he’s gonna do if it turns out that Cas is still kinda in love with him, or if he did sleep with him in Baltimore, or if he just didn’t tell Dean because he doesn’t see why he shouldn’t have secrets. He just doesn’t know. 

The shower helps. He gets to refocus on the fact that Cas is really messed up right now and that he probably doesn’t realise the extent to which this is bothering Dean, because he can be a bit slow about the whole human emotions thing. Given that Cas reported being upset about Balthazar the second he started talking about the bullshit with his family, he’s pretty sure that whatever Balthazar is to Cas, he views it as important. The fallout of realising your whatever is betraying you, and hearing the truth about your family, and then getting a little bit more truth about your sister _whilst_ arguing with your significant other on top of all that isn’t exactly a walk in the park. It’s a fuck up that wrote off all of his support mechanism right when he needed them (well, in Cas’ mind; Dean is right here but apparently Cas has forgotten Dean’s speech about that). 

He’d probably be drunken than Cas was. 

“We’re half arguing,” Dean settles on when he walks back out, fully dressed. Sam’s already disappeared into the shower after him, so they at least get a few moments of just the two of them. He’s leaning on the edge of the table next to Cas’ seat, but he sort of wants to draw himself closer. He doesn’t know how Cas does this to him. “You told me about Anna and we parked the ten million things we need to talk about till later and I carried your ass to bed.” 

Cas is still all wide blue eyes and frowns. 

“Just because I’m pissed doesn’t mean I don’t…” Dean begins, but then his resolve waivers and he stops. 

“Ditto,” Cas says, in a way that makes it clear that he’s parroting Dean’s words from the phone conversation from the airport, and he knows that the end of that original sentence is a ‘love you.’ Dean grimaces at him, but he’s pretty glad the message got across. Probably. 

“I’m here for you, man, it’s just…I’m an asshole when I’m hurt. Ignore it.” 

“It was never my intention to hurt you.” 

“Yeah, well, good intentions will damn us all one day,” Dean retorts, but he lets Cas stand up and step into his personal space, stepping forward again till Cas is standing in the gap between his legs, slumping forward. Dean wraps his arms around his back. This whole thing is so frigging complicated and he’s back to the question of whether it’s supposed to be this difficult, but everything in his life has been damn hard so he doesn’t see why this shouldn’t be either. Maybe they’re just damned period. 

“I think someone sliced my left eye open with a sharp knife whilst I slept,” Cas deadpans into his neck. 

“Price of drinking away your problems, angel,” Dean says, his hands finding their way to Cas’ hips all by themselves. Cas steps back enough that they can face each other to talk, but he’s still much too close for normal people parameters. “I’ll drop you off at yours to sleep, then we’ll go find what’s left of your car before your shift. And tonight we talk.” Cas agrees with a slight incline of the head, then steps back because Sam has re-entered the room and he knows that Dean isn’t mad keen on being overtly affectionate in front of Sam. His brother still gets a glimpse of it, though, and he doesn’t mind as much as he thought he would. 

“Let’s get you home, then.” Dean says, making a move for his jacket. 

“Dean,” Sam bitchfaces, “I made you breakfast. Like you asked me to.” 

“Fine,” Dean says with an eye roll, and pulls up a seat next to Cas. He hasn’t eaten his eggs either. 

Cas is visibly folding his shoulders against the cold when they step outside, two hangover breakfasts and four cups of coffee later, because he’s a frigging baby. He stays tight lipped and silent about it. Apparently he doesn’t think Dean’s mood will hold up to a complaint about the weather, which would probably be a fairly accurate assessment if he didn’t have the solution folded in his trunk. Dean finds himself offering up an over exaggerated sight before opening up the boot and pulling out Cas’ trench coat. He probably should be more embarrassed about the fact that he’s been driving around with it there than he is, because clearly Cas needs the gesture. His whole posture relaxes, and his relief is a little too honest for Dean to look at straight. 

Cas pulls his arms through the sleeves before backing him against the Impala and kissing him stupid. It’s better than this morning because they’re clean and awake and making out against the frigging Impala (which they’ve never done before, which is a tragedy if ever there was one), so he lets himself be pulled in despite his half-hearted intention to _not_ until they’ve sorted out all the rest. Cas kisses him like he’s some precious, worthy thing and tangles his hands through his hair and slides them over his hips and waist like he’d like to linger there for hours. And maybe sex never solved any of their problems before, but there are few bonuses of trying it again. 

“Is this okay?” Cas asks, when Dean pulls away ever so slightly. 

“Two weeks, dude,” Dean says, “And I’ve still got eight hours of shifts and three hours of college before we get to fuck.” 

“I hardly think two weeks is a long time. You’ve survived longer.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, pulling Cas forward so they’re hips are touching, “but I’m like conditioned or something. My body knows it’s Thursday.” 

“Castiel is the angel of Thursdays.” 

“Hell yeah he is,” Dean grins, and Cas rolls his eyes at him, “If you’re too hungover for sex later, gotta say, I’m gonna feel cheated.” 

“I thought we were talking.” 

“You ever heard of a euphemism Cas?” Dean grins, “We can talk after. Or before. In the middle. Whatever.” 

“You should get to work,” Cas says, stepping away from him in his trench coat and waking over to the passenger’s side. Mrs Downstairs is checking her mailbox and openly staring. Dean salutes her and makes a point to slap Cas on the ass as he passes. 

Cas has slipped back into misery though, to the point where they spend the ride to Cas’ apartment listening to the radio in lieu of conversation. He’s probably back to thinking about Anna, which isn’t really surprising, and if Dean had more control over his life he’d follow Cas into his apartment and keep his misery company. They could spend all day in bed like Cas seems to try and talk him into whenever the opportunity arises. They could marathon watch shitty TV and have lazy sex on the sofa and Dean could cook, and he’d feel like he’d actually done something helpful. 

Instead, he gets to watch Cas head up to his apartment, shoulders slumped, from the side of the road. And then he has to dive away. 

* 

“Your boyfriend looks like he’s gonna throw up or fall asleep, Winchester,” Ellen says, turning up far too close behind him where he’s watching Cas fail at scrubbing tables. He’d feel embarrassed about the fact that he’s been watching him for the past ten fifteen minutes of his shift, except that Ellen’s completely right. Him staring isn’t so much sappy as it is justified concern. It doesn’t help that Cas is pretty much avoiding his side of the bar, instead deliberately trying to find tasks to do as far away from Dean as possible, thereby putting himself in his direct eye line. Still, it makes both the prospect of sorting it out tonight and sex seem growingly unlikely. 

“Ain’t exactly comfortable with the term boyfriend,” 

“And I’m damn sick of the wounded puppy look,” Ellen says, ignoring his last comment. “Take him home, kid.” 

He’d like to argue that he’s only half way through his shift, but Ellen doesn’t especially look like she wants to hear it. He doesn’t exactly blame Ellen for being low on patience, because Cas hasn’t exactly been a glowing employee; he disappeared for most of the summer with minimal notice, pissed off for a week with no notice and, anyway, just generally sucks at bartending. He’s more trouble than he’s worth, as far as Ellen’s business is concerned, but she’d known that form the off. Cas got the damn job because Ellen is a bleeding heart who’s a sucker for a lost soul and, course, Cas looking miserable, tried and hungover doesn’t exactly scream a success story. Of course she doesn’t want him there right now, for Cas’ sake, and Dean’s the sucker who drove him here. 

“Do I have to?” Dean mumbles, and Ellen turns one of her glares at him. 

“Take him home, Winchester.” 

“He don’t wanna talk to me, Ellen,” Dean complains, even though he’s sure it’s equally true the other way round. Talking about everything is sure to be long and difficult and painful, and he’d rather not, even if he’s painfully aware of its necessity every time the name ‘Balthazar’ features in his thought processes. It’s a stupid god damn name anyway. 

“That my problem?” Ellen asks, “You get out of here, Dean, before I chase you out and make you take more holiday pay.” 

Cas agrees with very little argument, following Dean into the parking lot and climbing into the passenger seat without comment. The drive back is just as silent as the drive that morning and the unspoken tension is enough to make Dean begin to feel pissed off again, which is bad news. They’re never going to get through this conversation if they just keep taking it turns to run hot or cold. 

“Can we just be okay again?” Dean mutters as he walks into Cas’ apartment and slumps down on the guys’ sofa. 

“I wasn’t aware that was how it worked.” Cas shoots back, walking in behind him and hovering near the sofa, like he can’t work out whether he’s allowed to sit down next to Dean or not. It’s probably that mixed with Dean’s growing irritation that makes him swing his feet up on the sofa, shoes still on, effectively making Cas’ decision for him. Cas’ gaze follows his and his frown deepens, but he doesn’t comment on his actions. 

“Nope,” Dean agrees. 

“Why is this so difficult?” 

“Quit asking that,” Dean snaps, anger flaring up again, “It’s life, Cas, it’s dirty and it’s messy and it’s hard. Either I’m worth it or I’m not, your decision.” 

He kicks he shoes off as an alternative to watching Cas’ facial expression, just in case Dean putting his shoes on Cas’ precious fucking sofa is enough to tip him over from worth it to not, and because he’s pretty sure he’s never said anything so needy in his whole god damn life, and he hates how much he wants Cas to tell him that he, this, is worth something. Worth more than this Balthazar crap and more than the petty drama around Cas disappearing and not calling and all the rest. Dean really frigging wants their relationship to mean something. It means something to him. It’s worth it to him. 

Cas has crossed to the kitchen and returned with a beer by the time Dean has looked up again. In the grand scheme of gestures, he doesn’t really know what a beer conveys. It’s at least better than Cas declaring at the latter. It’s not exactly a ringing endorsement of the former though. 

“Thanks,” Dean says, and it’s only half sarcastic. He doesn’t move his legs so that Cas can sit down and Cas doesn’t ask him too. He’s just standing there watching him drink his beer, and Dean doesn’t know where they go from here. 

“You tidied my apartment,” Cas says, after a few more moments of silence. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, picking up the stack of Cas’ post that has since been deposited on the guy’s coffee table, idly flicking through them. He’d wound up knowing the ins and outs of Cas’ bills and financial situation before they started this up, so it doesn’t really feel like an invasion of privacy. Cas has never objected, at any rate. “Didn’t take you long to mess it up again.” 

“Is that in regards to the apartment, or a more general statement?” 

There’s a touch of the dark humour in that which Dean doesn’t really like. 

“This a year’s contract?” Dean says, partially as a deflect but also because he’s stuck on the words printed on the document in front of him, heart rate stopping for a few seconds before upping the pace to catch up. 

“My landlord was unable to fill the apartment when I gave up my lease in the summer and was keen for me to sign a longer contract after I returned,” Cas says, tilting his head at him slightly. 

“Have you signed this?” Dean asks, swallowing. 

“Not yet,” 

“Maybe don’t,” Dean says, but his mouth feels dry. 

It’s crossed his mind a few times in the past couple of weeks, not as anything particularly concrete, but as a half-hearted whimsical thought when he hasn’t seen Cas for a few days, or he wishes he was there when they were eating dinner, or mornings when it actually pretty much sucks to wake up alone. He’d never thought about voicing it out loud, but… 

“He’s willing to lower my rent.” 

“I can see that,” Dean says, “A year’s a long time, Cas.” 

“Dean,” Cas exhales, “Your obsession with me leaving is absurd. I am not dropping out of college a second time.” 

“Hold fire, Cas, that’s not what I meant,” Dean says, staring at the stupid contract feeling oddly lightheaded. He’s no good at this. He’s really no good at this. He wishes he hadn’t deliberately stopped Cas from sitting down, because the height difference is too jarring for this conversation, and he doesn’t know why he’s even trying with this when they’re whole relationship is off kilter right now, but contracts can be damn hard to get out of. “I just… you really wanna be living here in a years’ time?” 

“This apartment is adequate.” 

“The apartment’s fine,” Dean snaps, swallowing another breathe of air, “You’re missing my point.” 

“Dean you’re not making a point,” 

“I’m trying, okay?” Dean shoots back, voice raised. This isn’t helping and it’s a fucking terrible time to bring it up, but then bad timing seems to be the name of the game. It’s just that when he gets to squeeze in a few hours with Cas in the morning before work, or on the Sunday afternoons he usually has off, or when the three of them are having dinner together, he entertains the idea. He doesn’t think Sam would have too much of a problem with it and it would make the juggling easier. Less commuting and packing overnight bags. He wouldn’t have to search out evidence of his place in Cas’ life in his apartment to prove to himself that he fits in. They could have a shared sock draw. 

“Dunno if we can keep this up like this for a year, man, I’m exhausted. You are too. And… I just thought, I dunno, in a year, we’d have figured something else out.” 

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Cas says, frustrated and honest. Of course he doesn’t, because Dean’s not actually make any sense. He’s brains short circuiting and he doesn’t quite know how to just step out of his comfort zone and just say, straight off, that in Dean’s head they were gonna be talking about living together before a whole year elapsed. 

“You’re half moved in any way,” Dean says, raising his gaze to meet Cas’ at last, “Keep finding your frigging socks in my laundry.” Cas blinks. “Not right now or anything,” Dean says, swallowing quickly, “But not off the cards for a whole year.” 

“I wasn’t aware it was an option.” 

“Dunno if it is,” Dean says, swallowing, “Just don’t want it to be not one.” 

He’s been thinking it would be easier to wait until Sam left for college, but he’s still got over a year and a half of high school to get through till then, and spending the next eighteen months or whatever with Cas pretty much splitting himself over two apartments and wasting money on rent that none of them really have seems pretty illogical. Sam’s voiced enough of his opinions for him to hazard a guess that Sam would be pumped about the idea in theory, even if it would take a bit of adjustment in practice. They’d have to get a bigger place which would probably be a damn pain in the ass, but he’s not confident that he and Cas can make it long term the way they’re doing right now. Relationships take work. He’d like Cas around all the time. 

“Wait,” Dean says, glancing up at Cas with his insides suddenly feeling icy. “You’ve thought about this, right?” Beyond the fact that Cas just might not be up for moving in with a teenager, even one as awesome as Sammy, there’s this possibility that Cas just isn’t as serious about this as Dean is. He never really asked. He just assumed that they were on the same page, because Cas said he loved him and was putting up with a whole bucket load of Dean’s baggage for a relationship that only stretched to three days a week, but he never asked about the _future_. Cas could view this as something that was probably temporary. Hell, the guy could have plans to use the wealth of languages he has in his arsenal to travel round the world whilst Dean rots in Kansas, alone, because Sam’s fucked off to college. He figured they’d reached a mutual accord to throw their lots in with each other, but for all his family drama Cas _is_ still a college student with no responsibilities and nothing tying him to anywhere, whilst Dean’s basically in his forties at twenty two. “The future.” 

Cas is advancing on him and closing the height gap. The fact that Dean’s still taking up all the sofa be damned, because Cas is finding space for his knees either side of Dean’s leg, settling not quite in Dean’s lap but near enough. For all that he’s reaching out and running his thumb over Dean’s jaw and staring at him like he’s the seventh wonder of the fucking world, it’s not a damn answer to his question. 

“Cas, I’m serious,” Dean says, or more chokes out, as Cas presses the whole palm of his hand against Dean’s cheek like the weird dude with no sense of boundaries he is, “You gotta be straight with me, here, if you don’t want… this for keeps,” he meant to say me, but his throat mangles the word and forced him to rethink before it came out of his throat. “You gotta say right now.” He’s pulling Cas closer to him anyway, because it’s almost automatic, and because he feels like he’s teasing he words out of his chest with pliers, and the warmth of Cas’ back under his hands helps. “If you don’t I need to walk out of here right now, because I can’t keep slitting myself in two if you ain’t – ” 

Cas kisses him again, lips and teeth and tongue, still clutching as his frigging face, except Cas can cradle his god damn face all he wants if it means he’s sticking around, but he doesn’t know if he can read that in the kiss or if’s just wishful thinking, and he needed this kind of intel like _months_ ago. The prospect of Cas thinking this is just some fun before he disappears off to be young and free somewhere is making him feel like he missed a step coming down the stairs, and now he’s failing and flailing and trying to regain his balance. 

“If you’re just trying to distract me right now I’ll never forgive you, Cas, I swear,” Dean mutters, as Cas presses their foreheads together. He’s barely noticed that he’d slammed his eyes shut, or how tightly he’s been gripping hold of the back of Cas’ shirt, but he notices now. He’s freaking out, clearly. 

“Look at me, Dean,” Cas says, low and deep and grounding enough that Dean forces his eyes open. Cas hasn’t spoken since Dean said that F word out loud, like Dean’s lips forming the word ‘future’ was enough to cut out his voice box. “I’m in if you’re in.” 

He needs to get Cas to quit this habit of throwing Dean’s words back at him, because Dean is every bit as vague and none committal as Cas is, so it never really gets them anywhere. 

“How far in?” 

“How far in would you like me to be?” Cas asks, tilting his head and frigging smirking at him, like they’re not talking about the future and forever. It’s enough to force a laugh out of his throat though, mixed with a shaky breath, because Cas is reacting like they were on the same page about the future all along, and like Dean’s freak out is this extraneous, separate thing that didn’t need to happen. 

“Fuck you,” Dean mutters, bringing their lips together and kissing him again, hard. He pulls him properly into his lap so he has the solid presence of Cas’ chest and torso pressed against his own, because the freak out is still lingering in his peripheries. 

“All the way in,” Cas mutters, arms looped around his neck. 

“All the way, huh?” Dean says. He’s aiming to pick Cas joke back up so they can park how much gravity this whole conversation has, but his throat is still too tight. “Might need demo of how all the way in looks in practice,” 

“Fuck,” Cas mutters. 

“Exactly,” Dean says, and everything after that is too serious and significant to call fucking, and too big to call sex, but he doesn’t have any other words that fit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is half of the chapter really... because 10k seemed was just a little bit tooooo long for a chapter, but it means there will be more tomorrow! Horray.


	34. Chapter 34

“Gotta say, Cas, clean-up is like five times messier with two dudes.” Dean says, returning to the sofa with a blanket he found in one of the drawers in Cas’ bedroom. It looks like its intended use was as some kind of throw, which is far too gay for Dean to deal with generally (it matches his fucking bedspread, for God’s sake; he hopes it was some kind of misguided gift and has been rotting in the cupboard it’s whole life), but it was probably less effort that lugging Cas’ duvet all the way to his duvet and Cas had made his view of moving off the sofa and getting dressed vehemently clear. 

“Shut up,” Cas says, but he’d been aiming to diffuse some of the seriousness that settled over them at some point between the conversation about them probably moving in together one day and Dean making a sex joke and Dean pushing Cas’ shirt off his shoulders. He’s used to sex punctuated with jokes and messing around and laughing, and this was different. Not necessarily better or worse, but it definitely held more gravity and now, in the aftermath, he’s falling back on his usual routine of being slightly uncomfortable by the obviousness of all the feelings and intentions in the room. 

He fucking _loves_ Cas and everyone in this room knows that, and maybe a few people who aren’t in the room too, and that’s huge. 

“Just saying,” Dean says, nudging Cas to make him shift over slightly. The sofa probably hadn’t been a great idea. He resigned himself to it right about the time that Cas first kissed him, though, so he’s not about to start objecting now. Instead he just about manages to squeeze himself on too, although in doing so winds up with most of Cas on top of him, and throws the throw-blanket over them both. “So either this is some shiny new toy for you, or you like to top when you feel like you’re losing it.” He’s curious, but not so curious as to have halted the earlier events to get a decent answer, but as they’re apparently stuck on the sofa until Cas decides movement is acceptable again, he might as well ask. 

It’s probably the safest conversation topic he can think about right now. 

“The latter,” Cas says, “I value the feeling of being in control. Not that I wish to undermine how shiny and new your ass is.” 

“I appreciate that,” Dean says, rolling his eyes, “dick.” 

“Exactly,” 

Dean laughs. 

“Which you prefer?” He asks, after another few moments. He’d dedicated to a degree of thought about whether Cas would top or bottom back when he first learnt about the guy’s sexuality, but nothing too graphic (except that time Cas was orgasming over that damn burger). He’s definitely thought about it since, more graphically, but the idea of Cas topping was kind of terrifying until it suddenly wasn’t, and now he has no idea. 

“I have no particular preference,” Cas says, “Both are good.” 

“So how’d it work with Balthazar?” 

He’s ninety percent sure he did not give his brain permission to say that, and he regrets it the second he hears the words coming from his own mouth. Yeah, he’s not the expert on this relationship stuff, but he’s pretty sure asking about sex with your ex right after what he supposes he would classify as make-up-sex (or maybe just we’re-not-breaking-up sex) is a no go. 

He doesn’t even want to know, really. He didn’t give a flying fuck about Balthazar before last week. It hadn’t even occurred to him to ask how that whole thing disintegrated, because it just seemed so wholly irrelevant. 

There’s a few long seconds of silence. 

“Dean,” Cas says, and Dean suddenly has a humungous urge to just leave. He doesn’t want to deal with this. He could put on his clothes and walk out and give himself space until he doesn’t remember who Balthazar even is, and then maybe everything would be okay again, but if Cas gives him another bullshit evasive answer he’s not sure he can deal, and he doesn’t know what kind of none-bullshit answer he wants. Except…. he promised Cas he would be there and he’d half forgotten how much this thing has been bothering him, and his chest hurts and he’s possibly freaking out again, or maybe he was still freaking out the whole time, which is what led to the super-intense, serious sex that Dean’s a hundred percent not labelling as making love, because the phrase makes him feel uncomfortable without even voicing it out loud. 

“I didn’t realise I could be attracted to men until I went to college,” Cas says, “Whilst I was aware that there were people who were gay, due to Michael’s teachings and the things I was led to believe, I didn’t realise that label could possibly apply to me. I believed and went to church and kept all of Michael’s rules. I wasn’t one of _them_. I must have been aware on some level, but I’d been successfully ignoring it. College was the first freedom I had and after a period of time in college dorms Michael changed his mind and had me move in with Balthazar. His father had been very good friends with our own before he left, and Balthazar often used to visit during the summer holidays.” 

Cas takes a breath and Dean closes his eyes. His gut is twisting and he feels vaguely sick, but he’s not sure he has the capacity to walk out right now anyway. Cas is pretty much naked and on top of him, for one, and he’s never been one to pass up on that. 

“Balthazar was probably a more corrupting influence than any of the students living in the dorms, but his sins generally fit into a more forgivable category; partying and sleeping around, with women as far as Michael was concerned, was more forgivable than questioning the theology I was being forced to study. I was never in love with him, Dean. I didn’t move in with him by choice. By that point, I was aware that I was gay but hadn’t acted upon it. I walked in at an impromptu moment and discovered that Balthazar has no problem fucking men himself. He was initially concerned that I would inform my brothers, so I told him about myself to reassure him. We started sleeping together a few months after. He wasn’t a closet case in a traditional sense, in that Balthazar had no qualms about accepting his own sexuality, the problem was that he realised that being public knowledge wouldn’t be helpful to his career or his bank balance. He knew full well that Michael started becoming obsessive and unbalanced a long time ago, but Michael also has access to a variety of useful contacts.” 

“So he was a douchebag, then,” Dean says. 

“He covered for me for Michael, which initially made things easier. I believe he told Michael that I was dating some girl I met at church, whilst Balthazar would turn up to family events with a variety of different dates. I didn’t particularly care. I knew the terms and conditions involved in our relationship before I entered it, although it was beginning to wear a little thing towards the end. I didn’t come out _because_ of Balthazar, either. I might have done so before that point had he not tried to persuade me not to, which was ultimately too big of a disagreement. He’d already moved out and was simply pretending to still live there by the time Michael decided to disown me, but he purchased my flight to Kansas so that Michael couldn’t track where I was and follow me. I thought this was an overreaction at the time, but given he knew more about Anna and Gabriel’s disappearance than I was aware of, it seems fairly reasonable.” 

“So he’s rich?” 

“Exceedingly rich,” Cas agrees, still staring up at the ceiling. “We talked more after I moved here because I didn’t know anyone else and he was concerned about my welfare. I believe he felt partially responsible for my decision. He first came to visit me at Christmas. We slept together multiple times on Christmas Day, before Balthazar made some reference to earning his guilt. He’d never expressed any guilt about anything previously and when I asked he admitted that he was ‘technically’ in a relationship. I chucked him out of my apartment at six in the morning on Boxing Day. He visited twice after that: once for my birthday and once just before I started working out the Roadhouse. I did not sleep with him on either of those occasions, or when I was in Baltimore. He is down as my emergency contact because I did not have anyone else and he sends me updates about Michael and Lucifer on a semi regular basis. Is there anything else you need to know?” 

Dean’s brain got a little bit stuck on the phrasing ‘slept together multiple times’ and he thinks he probably didn’t need that level of detail, thanks, but Cas misinterprets his silence and is reaching for his jeans, pulling his phone out of his pocket. 

“Here,” Cas says, pressing his phone into his hand. Dean’s faced with a screen of text message with ‘Balthazar’ written at the top, and as much as he didn’t _need_ this level of conformation that it’s nothing for him to worry about, he finds himself reading them anyway. 

The texts messages from Balthazar are exactly what Cas said they were; family updates. Sure, there’s affection behind them, but it’s mostly just Balthazar telling him the latest drama between Michael and Lucifer, Raphael and Uriel (he recognises the names but he’s never quite worked out how the latter fit in, and it seems too late to ask about it). Personally, he’s not sure that keeping this last thread between Cas and his family is helpful for his mental health, but he’s not about to begrudge something Cas feels he needs. There’s a few terms of affection and he’s sure as hell never going to be able to swallow the nickname ‘Cassie’ without feeling vaguely ill, but Cas rarely texts him first and doesn’t answer all the time. Balthazar asks about Dean and talks about various women (and occasionally men), and Cas’ replies about him are sort of none specific; he says that Dean’s fine, or that he’s currently busy, or that he’s going to see him later. There are a few messages that refer to phone calls. The messages about Anna and Gabriel. One about Cas walking in on him hitting on Anna. Several unanswered messages after the period where Cas was on his Dad-hunt…. The first being a sarcastic ‘thanks’ from Balthazar for returning his phone. Cas must have posted it back after he was done, or something. 

“You can keep going,” Cas says, but Dean doesn’t really want to. He’s not sure he ever thought that Cas was still into his ex, or whatever – at least not when he was thinking rationally – it’s just the trust thing that’s been getting to him. He doesn’t need to know when the messages turned more platonic, when Cas stopped sleeping with him and when he stopped having feelings for him. That’s not the issue here. 

He goes back onto Cas’ home message screen instead. His name is right at the top, then it’s Hester and Rachel from college, and then Sam and Ellen. Gabriel is there and Anna too. He’s even gotten messages from Jo and Charlie in recent times, but he’s not really sure he wants to know about those either. He clicks back on their text conversations instead, and scrolls upwards. Half of them are just arrangements, but the rest are Dean texting Cas about dumb things, sort of flirting and discussions about Sam. They talk a lot, actually. There’s like a good sixty from any given week and he doesn’t remember spending that much time on his phone, but obviously he has. 

“Anything else?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, setting Cas phone down on the pile of their clothing at the foot of the sofa, “When you say slept together _multiple times on Christmas Day_ how many times am I competing with?” 

“I don’t remember the specifics.” 

“If that’s some bullshit way of trying to save my ego it hasn’t worked,” Dean says, pulling Cas into his personal space. They’re naked and tangled up on the sofa already, and it would be really easy to put this conversation off with more sex. “You should give me a bonus one cause I bet Balthazar didn’t work an eight hour day first.” “Indeed,” Cas says, and he curls his fingers around Dean’s shoulders and blinks up at him. 

“I wouldn’t have cared about this, Cas,” Dean says, taking a deep breath, “This is nothing, just like you said. So why didn’t you just tell me?” 

“I didn’t want to lose it,” Cas says, and his voice is so low and quiet that he barely hears him. Of course he didn’t, because he didn’t even have a tentative relationship with Gabriel or Anna then, he was just alone. For all his talk, Dean’s always had Sam. He’s never had to deal with the whole fucking world with not a single person to rely on. He’s never moved half way across America to start again with _no one_ , and even if Cas isn’t exactly stranded anymore… the guy who’s the single contact in your phonebook is still going to matter to you. He’s not enamoured with the idea, but he gets it. 

“I wouldn’t have made you, Cas,” Dean says, “You gotta stop thinking I’m some kind of asshole who’d make you ditch your friends and never come out to my family and just, I don’t know, fuck you and not mention it again or whatever you thought I was gonna do. You gotta stop it, Cas, cause it’s not fair. If I’ve given you some reason to think I’m that kinda guy then fine, talk to me and I’ll fix it, but…” 

“It’s not about you, Dean,” Cas says, sitting up. His posture is falling back into stiff and wooden and, for once, he’s not looking at him. They’re still both under the throw and naked, so the extra distance doesn’t really do much, but he misses the closeness anyway. “My father left. Gabriel and Anna abandoned me. Michael rejected me for a fundamental part of who I am, and Lucifer would have done the same. Balthazar, for all that we are on good terms, ultimately picked wealth and his connections over our relationship, as I always knew he would. The fact that I have difficulty believing you have good intentions isn’t a reflection on you, Dean, it’s an entirely separate issue.” 

It’s like all the jigsaw pieces are falling into place all at once, and the worst part about is that Cas had given him all the pieces; not the way Dean would have done but slowly, over the course of their friendship, and he’s never once put them all together and thought about what that meant. He’d been hurt by the fact that Cas thought he’d kissed him for no good reason when Charlie pointed it out, pissed when Cas hadn’t found his note and assumed the worse, and really irritated that Cas thought he was gonna keep this whole thing a secret. The fact that Cas had put him in the douchebag bracket has been weighing on him, because he’s so used to it from other people and he wanted _more_ from Cas, but… yeah. 

He’s been taking all these things that happened to Cas as separate bubbles of hurt and riding them out accordingly, but that’s not how it works. He knows full well that being fucked up is as much about internalising stupid truths without realising you’ve done it as the things that actually happen, until you’re looking at your life and you realise the only worth you think you have is looking after your younger brother. Or, you’re like Cas, and you’re so used to feeling like people are rejecting everything you are and treating you like shit, that you just expect it. 

It’s a different side to the same lack of self-worth coin, and he just can’t believe he missed it. 

Hell, Cas came in when Dean was really struggling. He stepped in and frigging chauffeured him around and helped with his homework and Dean, well, he took advantage. In his head, Cas had been this unshakable, steadying force from the off; this super power who had it all together. He’d took his help and sort of ran with it, so the whole first half of their relationship is Cas propping Dean up without him even realising the guy was struggling, and that’s not anyone’s fault, exactly, it’s just the way it happened. Dean was too fucked up to see beyond Sam and his own misery until right before Cas left for the summer. Bobby and Ellen had tried to point out to him that he’d been relying on Cas a _lot _and he hadn’t really got it at time. And, course, Cas had just been letting Dean rely on him without complaint, because Cas didn’t think he was worth any more than that. Because Cas feels like he’s got to earn his keep, or else no one will want him around.__

 _ _This whole time, Dean’s been thinking that Cas has been responsible for the fuck ups in their relationship. Cas was the one who punched him, and Cas yelled at him about hitting on Anna and Cas lied and then conversation-dropped his whole friendship with Balthazar, but Dean’s been pushing his buttons and screwing this his feelings without even realising. Cas was ditched by his whole family and has the same brand of abandonment complex that Dean has, and Dean had said something that essentially amounted to him not having any plan beyond potentially getting himself killed; so Cas had lashed out. Cas saw him talking to Anna and assumed that he was doing the same as every other damn person and screwing him over after they’d sort-of-but-not-quite been in a long distance relationship that Cas didn’t even believe he could have (and the presence of Anna certainly didn’t help); so he’d lashed out. Dean said he loved him and they had the kind of perfect, chick flick-esque morning sex, but then he’d found out that maybe Anna and Gabriel left for a good reason, so he’d wound up having to validate his own shitty reasoning by pushing _Dean_ into lashing out, because the rest of it didn’t fit with Cas’ version of the truth. __

__

It’s not like any of that behaviour is okay, or anything, it’s just that he suddenly gets it. The oxygen is rushing out of his lungs and his brain is resetting, because Cas isn’t this super hero figure that Dean had him marked up as from the off; he’s broken, same as Dean. 

Dean’s inability to talk about his feelings has drawn it out and made it stick, and whilst Dean’s been relaxing into this thing they have, thinking that everything is okay and dandy, Cas has been half waiting for the other shoe to drop. Of course he was damn surprised when Dean bought up moving in together. Of course he stared when Dean said he loved him. Of course he hadn’t worked out why Dean was acting weird when he was talking frigging Italian at the Roadhouse. Of course he’d asked whether Dean was serious the first time he offered him a compliment about his appearance. 

It’s all so frigging obvious, and the fact that Dean’s never put it together kinda proves Cas’ point. Maybe Cas messed up in a few big ways, but Dean’s been screwing the pooch in tiny ways every frigging day. 

“Ah, fuck,” Dean mutters, stretching out his fingers before closing them back into fists. “I’ve been screwing this up. In my head, only problems we had were outside stuff, y’know? Like work and time and money, but I’ve been so fucking blind to all of this and…” Cas is staring at him like he has no idea what Dean’s talking about, and he supposes it would seem like a conversation jump from Cas’ end. At least he’s looking at him again. 

He’s got to do this, though, he’s got to set the record straight. It’s uncomfortable and it’s going to feel like pulling his innards out for Cas to scrutinise, but maybe if he’d just been a bit better at communicating from the off then none of this would have happened. 

“I was low, man, I mean I was really circling the drain. I think about how I was feeling, and it scares me. It scares me what I might have done. To Sam. But that’s… Cas, that’s not why I want you here.” 

He can’t do this without something else to focus on, so he reaches out runs a knuckle over the back of Cas’ spine. 

There’s something wholly precious about the fact that he knows the way that Cas’ skin feels and the way his body works that he’s never really understood about another person before. The only other person he’s slept with on a semi-regular basis was Bela, and it wasn’t like there was much affection tied to that. Bela came along at a time when he was feeling particularly worthless and she made him feel infinitely worse. The nearest thing they managed to a date was her dragging him along to posh art shows and a drinks reception; the champagne and the fancy ass suit were all an exercise in making him feel uncomfortable, before they traded insults and screwed in the back of the Impala. It wasn’t classy, it wasn’t nice and it _definitely_ wasn’t a relationship… this, though, is a different league all together. Cas knows him. He knows the intricacies of what he likes and where’s he’s ticklish and when he’s uncomfortable and tried and when he’s defaulting onto one of his moves and when he’s deviating into the spontaneous just because he felt like it…and he knows those things about Cas, too, and it makes everything so much easier. He doesn’t feel self-conscious just reaching out to touch him, it’s just simple and grounding, and it makes it easier to keep talking. 

“I don’t want you because you’re useful or because I owe you big time and… I’m not exactly the best at talking ‘bout this, telling you, and you deserve a fuck load more than me, Cas, I swear. I dunno why you’re here when I can’t even tell you I love you without freaking out, but that’s on me. It doesn’t mean…. It doesn’t mean I don’t, cause I don’t say it, and fuck, I’m pretty sure I’d be gone on you wherever I met you. Even if I had everything sorted and together, I’d still want you same as I do now, I’m not… I’m not doing this right,” Dean says, closing his eye. He swaps his knuckle for the palm of his hand, trying to feel out the knots in Cas’ back. “I’m just saying that you’re not worth something to me because of shit you do for me, and you do a lot, Cas, you’re worth something because you’re you. I want us more than I can remember wanting anything, which is all kinds of crazy because I’m not even supposed to want things anymore. I didn’t think I could. But I want it for keeps. Capisce?” 

Cas is twisting around to look at him and he’s staring at Dean like he’s just began to work out who the hell he is. It’s one of the most intense conversation he’s had in his whole life, and he’s had some pretty intense conversation with Sam in his time, but they’re butt naked under a god damn throw for fucks sake, and Cas’ staring can make a conversation about breakfast intense. 

“I think I capisce.” 

“Yeah?” Dean asks, swallowing. Obviously, he needs to try actually thinking about what’s going on with Cas, what’s really going on with him underneath the surface, and push through his own discomfort to try and make sure that Cas knows he’s not going anywhere. If Cas knows that, like properly internalises it, then there’s this chance it might cut off all this stupid relationship drama at the source. It won’t fix everything, obviously, because there’s still the lack of time and money and energy and the hundred and one other problems he’s got to deal with on a day to day basis, but… maybe it won’t be so _difficult_. 

“Yes,” Cas says, and then he breaks eye contact and glances towards the TV. “Do you want another beer?” 

Clearly, Cas is perfect.

__


	35. Chapter 35

“Really?” Jo asks out of nowhere, surprising him enough that he nearly knocks himself out on the car he’s currently underneath (this sweet Chevy that has nothing on his baby but is still a frigging pleasure to get his hands on). “Really?” Jo asks a second time, as Dean rolls himself back out and blinks up at her. She’s brandishing his phone and looking a little bit accusatory, and he didn’t really know she was at Bobby’s today anyway. The girl needs to have some better way to spend her Saturdays. 

“Dean probably does too, but that’s not the point. At least Bobby is paying for him to be here. 

“Not a mind reader, Jo.” 

“Cas rang,” Jo says, flipping his phone over in her hands, “His personalised ring tone?” Jo says, eyebrows poised high on her forehead and her lips twisted into a little smirk. He gave Cas a personalised ringtone when he was in Philadelphia and Dean wanted to be on hand if Cas needed to talk to him about Anna, but he changed it when he was slightly drunk a few days after the revelation about Cas actually being an insecure fuck up (a few days which Charlie liked to call their re-honeymoon period). Now it’s set to Aerosmith’s Angel, which is lining his stomach with a thick layer of embarrassment because, shit, it’s cutesy as fuck, and not something he really expected anyone to call him out on. He was half mocking himself when he did it anyway, but, goddamn, he didn’t need Jo judging him for it. 

“Shut up,” Dean mutters, taking the phone. His face is flushing and he’s going to change the ringtone back to default as soon as possible, but the damage is done. 

“Hell of a comeback,” 

“So, uh,” Dean says, running a hand over the back of his neck, and smudging engine grease there in the process. “Just you who heard it?” 

“And Sam,” Jo says, “Ellen. Bobby. Possibly Garth.” 

“Awh, fuck,” Dean mutters, because this is going to haunt him. He can’t even threaten Jo with telling Ellen about her secret (presumably) ex-boyfriend in the dodgy side of town, because that would only serve to shut Jo up. Ellen probably won’t mention it for years and then bring it up at sodding Christmas, and he doesn’t put it past either Bobby or Sam to start randomly playing it in the background. 

“Call your boyfriend back, Dean.” 

“Not my boyfriend,” Dean mutters, because he’s not a high schooler, and as much as he thinks he’s been taking recent revelations about his sexuality in his stride, he cannot compute applying the word boyfriend to himself. Anyway, it sounds so superficial in relation to him and Cas; like dates and hand holding, which they’ve never done, and not like carving out places in each other’s lives and learning each other and shit. They’re not boyfriends. 

Jo just gives him a pointed look. 

Dean wipes his hands on his jeans before taking the phone, still from his place on the floor, and waiting for Jo to leave. She doesn’t and Dean takes that to mean that she’s both intending to eavesdrop on his conversation and this is his last chance to save what’s left of his masculinity. 

Cas answers on the second ring. 

“Hello Dean,” 

“What’s up?” Dean asks, leaning against the back of the car. 

“I’m at your apartment,” 

“I’m not,” Dean says. The decision to go over to Bobby’s had been vaguely last minute and dependent on the car, but he probably should have told Cas he was dragging Sam to the salvage yard so he could get his hands on another Chevy engine and love her back into life. The problem with inviting Cas to come over whenever the hell he liked, and the message actually getting through, is more communication is required to avoid instances like this. He’s working it out. 

“I know,” Cas says, “I’ll come back later.” 

“You have a key,” Dean says, “And you sound sober enough to manage the mechanics of opening the front door this time, so knock yourself out.” Cas is silent down the other end. “Look, dude, you can drive out to Bobby’s if you really want, but you’ll be turning round as soon we get there. I’ll be like an hour, tops. Do the laundry. Watch TV. Invite Charlie round if it’ll make you feel better about it, whatever.” 

“Are you… sure?” 

“Yeah, Cas, I’m pretty damn sure. Just don’t set fire to the place. Or cook,” Dean says, rubbing a hand over his forehead. At least Cas is being more vocal about the things he’s insecure about, but it’s at least six different kinds of frustrating that he can’t make Cas realise that he’s _entitled_ to this kind of shit from him. He’s allowed. It’s fine. “You good?” 

“Yes,” Cas says, and then he hangs up and Dean rolls his eyes and shoves his phone back in his pocket. Jo is still watching him, but her expression has softened slightly. He doesn’t like it much, actually, because it makes him feel like Jo can see right through his game face and, as much progress as he’s made, it’s still hardwired into him not to let that kind of stuff on. 

“Bite me,” 

“I’ll leave that to Castiel,” Jo grins, “Pam wants to talk to you,” 

“She’s here?” Dean asks, glancing back towards Bobby’s house with a growing sense of doom. The Pamela-Ellen tag team was already pretty god damn frightening, and the idea that they might all have congregated again doesn’t really fill him with joy. “About what?” 

“Thanksgiving.” 

“It’s a celebration in late November. Happens every year. Usually a turkey involved,” 

“You ever think Cas might wanna go see his family this year?” Jo asks, eyebrows raising again, “And that he might want some company?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “I’ve thought about it.” 

“Dean, it’s not a criticism –” 

“– and then I thought about it some more. And then I checked my bank balance and remembered I’m the guardian to a sixteen year old high schooler who can’t skip school lest I have the CPS on my ass, and then I remembered that it’s none of your damn business, and that it’s sure as shit nothing to do with Pamela.” 

“Dean,” Jo says, but he’s already aimed a kick at a wrench (more painful than expected) and is disappearing under the car, hopefully for long enough that Jo can pass on the message that he is categorically _not_ interested in this conversation. 

* 

Cas is on the sofa when they get back in, frowning at the TV like its some intricate puzzle he’s trying to work out, even though he has the wildlife channel on. Normally, there’s a jolt of something somewhere near his gut when Cas just appears and Dean’s reminded that they haven’t fucked this up yet, and that Cas doesn’t have any intention of leaving (at least right now)… but he’s pretty much progressed into that state where Cas’ pinched TV expression is annoying rather than infection-inducing. Not that it’s Cas’ fault, really. 

“Hello Dean,” 

“Right,” Dean mutters, walking straight past the sofa in the direction of the fridge. Right now, he’d love for Cas to say something dumb so he could be justified in yelling at someone about something, but it seems unlikely and probably wouldn’t help anyway. 

“Dean’s, uh, in a bad mood,” Sam says, somewhat unnecessarily Dean feels, before sending the puppy dog eyes at his back. He wants to drag out the bottle of jack and go for a smoke, but he is no longer allowed to do those things, so he settles on a beer and sitting as far away from Cas as possible on the sofa. 

Cas doesn’t ask why, or anything at all for that matter. He turns his gaze towards Dean for a second, before returning to the TV. 

“I um…. Can I still go to Jess’ later?” 

“Why wouldn’t you be able to?” Dean grunts, not looking from the TV. They’re still watching the god damn wildlife channel, but that’s not really the point and it’s helping him feel slightly vindicated. “I ain’t a dictator, Sam. It’s the weekend. Whatever.” 

“She’s invited me for dinner,” 

“Sam, go if you wanna go,” Dean says, turning around to face him. “I’m good. We’re good.” 

“Good luck, Cas,” Sam says, with a brief smile, before he’s pulled his jacket straight back on and headed back out the front door. On one level, he knows he’s passed up a couple of opportunities to tease Sam about the whole Jess debacle, but he’s just not in the mood. 

Dean bristles slightly. 

“Enjoy yourself, Sam,” Cas says. 

He doesn’t push Dean for conversation for another half an hour of Dean pretending to care about gazelles being eaten, but Dean’s purposeful distance slips slightly in the intermittent time. Whilst they’re not quite at their usual levels of lack of personal space, they’re definitely getting there. 

“I assume now is a bad time to tell you Balthazar is threatening to visit.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, after a beat, “You could say that.” 

“In which case I retract that statement,” Cas says, turning one of the usual looks at him. It’s the first time Dean’s let himself be pulled into one of those staring contests, but the context is all wrong and also, _what_ the ever loving fuck. 

“Why are you even telling me this?” Dean grunts at the TV, folding his fists into his jeans. He’s still wearing his jackets and he’d really love to make this into a big deal, storm out and leave… but he’s not John Winchester, and he’s not about to start taking his crap out on people he loves. 

“In the interest of honesty,” Cas says, tilting his head at him. 

“Yeah, well, can you be honest later?” 

“I hadn’t anticipated you… to be in a bad mood,” Cas says, frowning at him. Dean _was_ in a good mood before the festive season related intervention, which involved far too many noses in his distinct business and a healthy dose of self-loathing over the fact that he hasn’t got a chance in hell of factoring whatever Cas wants to do. Dean doesn’t have a choice and that’s fine, because Dean’s never had a choice, but Cas should have options if he wants them. Dean can’t offer that. 

“Pam wants to give me a Christmas bonus,” Dean says, “So we can fly out to Philadelphia or LA or, I don’t know, wherever the hell else for Thanksgiving.” 

“I think Gabriel and Anna are planning to come to Kansas,” “Oh,” Dean says, feeling his chest loosening ever so slightly, “You…. Uh, you’re not jetting off some place?” 

“No, Dean,” Cas returns, lips twisting upwards slightly, “Which I could have told you had you asked.” 

“Should be able to give you Thanksgiving if you want Thanksgiving,” Dean says, pressing a fist into his legs and not meeting Cas’ eyes. 

“Dean, your inability to fly to Philadelphia, LA or ‘wherever the hell else’ is not news to me,” 

“And I can’t afford Christmas,” Dean says. He hadn’t really meant to say that it, true as it is, it just sort of fell out of his mouth. 

“Okay,” 

“Really?” Dean asks, because Cas puts up with far too much of his rubbish. Cas just nods, so then Dean just has to kiss him, and then he remembers that Sam’s out and they wind up having a-grade sex on the sofa just because they can. 

* 

Dean is busy spending an extortionate amount of time changing one of the barrels, because his shift is long and he’s bored and it’s probably in poor taste to pass time flirting with any of the customers, given Cas is there and all. Not that he’d do more than offer out a compliment and a wink, anyway, but still, it’s how he used to pass long shifts. 

“Dean,” Jo says, standing in the doorway looking vaguely unamused at his slow-motion-barrel-changing, “Some English guy is talking to Cas.” 

“And?” Dean asks. 

“Seems like he knows him,” Jo says. 

“Guy’s allowed to have friends,” 

“I think his name’s Balthazar or something?” 

Dean’s hand slips. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mutters, turning around, “what the hell is that douchebag doing here? Why didn’t you chuck him out?” 

In theory, Dean is totally over the Balthazar bullshit. In practice, maybe not so much. 

“So he _is_ Cas’ ex or something,” Jo says, “Ash was right. Cas has pretty good taste.” 

_“Jo,”_

“I came and told you, didn’t I?” Jo asks. 

“Yeah, well,” Dean huffs, “you can change the barrel, too.” 

“Don’t be a dick, Winchester!” Jo calls after his retreating back, but he’s not sure whether that’s in reference to leaving her to sort out the barrel or in regards to storming into Cas’ conversation with frigging _Balthazar._

His first observation is that Balthazar is kind of attractive, in a blonde British asshole kind of way. His second is that of course he is, because Cas has the voice and the eyes and the jawline, and he’s whip smart (if socially challenged) and used to be filthy rich, so _of course_ Balthazar isn’t some unattractive loser like Dean had kind of been hoping for. Of course not. Cas looks like he’s torn between deer in the headlights and bone deep anger, and it’s making Dean’s fight or flight instinct settle defiantly on fight. Not that that will help anything. 

“I dropped by your apartment, Cassie,” Balthazar is saying, “Decided to try this place out when you weren’t there.” 

Cas looks pissed. Probably on bar with how angry he’d been the time he’d punched Dean in the face, but it’s slightly better controlled. 

“Why are you here?” 

“Well don’t sound so pleased to see me, Cassie,” Balthazar says, “You don’t want to go inflating my ego, now.” 

“That would be an incredibly ambitious endeavour,” Cas says, voice still icy and cold. 

“Outside your skill set, I’d imagine. Lovely place, this.” 

He’s been eavesdropping for longer than he intended to, because the initial plan had been to storm in guns blazing, but he’s glad he gave himself a minute. Now, though, he steps out the back sending a slightly muted death glare at Balthazar. 

“You ordering a drink?” Dean asks, pointed. 

“Dean,” Cas says, frowning at him. 

“So this is the straight bloke who hit on your sister?” Balthazar asks, looking much too amused for Dean’s liking. 

“This is Dean,” Cas confirms. Behind him, Jo has returned from changing the barrel and snorts. Dean feels his levels of irritation rising exponentially. 

“Well, I suppose can see where you’re coming from,” Balthazar says, glancing at him, “Bit butch for my tastes. And you honestly thought he was straight, Cassie?” 

“Balthazar,” 

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll behave,” Balthazar says, and then he _winks_ in Dean’s direction. “You haven’t been answering my calls.” 

“Well maybe he moved on, douchebag.” 

“I’m sorry, I thought he did that a year ago,” Balthazar says, turning his eyes on Dean again. “By all means, continue your jealous hard man routine, it’s been a long day and I could use the entertainment, but I very much doubt it’s going to win you any points. And who’s this charming girl, another friend of yours?” Balthazar continues, smoothly turning his gaze onto Jo and then back to Cas again, raising his eyebrows. “I’ll have a gin and tonic, if the offer of a drink is still on the table.” 

Jo’s eyebrows are so far up her forehead that they’re lost in the line of her hair, and the intense shock is probably why she reaches for a glass rather than a knife, because the last person who referred to Jo as anything even similar to ‘charming girl’ ended up in a headlock. 

“I’d have thought those flights to Massachusetts might have sweetened you up a bit,” Balthazar continues. “I do hate a wasted effort.” 

“That was you,” Cas says. His expression has shifted enough that Dean doesn’t doubt for a second that this was news to him, and the fact that Balthazar bought two tickets is beginning to permeate through his skull. It doesn’t exactly scream jealous-ex behaviour, especially since the tickets had been sort of anonymous up until this point. 

“If you want to be specific about it, it was my great great grandfather’s money and my personal assistant, but it’s the thought that counts. Did you talk to Anna? Gabriel was a bit hazy on the details.” 

“Gabriel,” 

“Don’t be mad about that, Cassie, you know my only flaws are my obsession with self-preservation and intense desire to remain filthy rich. It’s why you ditched me in the first place, but you can’t hold that against me forever. Thank you, darling,” Balthazar continues, taking his drink from Jo. “Besides, you know how I dislike picking sides. Michael wanted me to keep an eye on you, and so did Gabriel. Both were happy with the accounts of your life I gave them, and I left out the incriminating bits. Everybody wins.” 

“Only the parts that incriminated you,” 

“Hello? Self-preservation. I miss you, Cassie, you constantly remind me of the many reasons I am glad I didn’t make the same decisions as you. You really work here?” 

“Yes, Balthazar.” 

“Well, I suppose there are… compensations.” He’s eyes run over Dean during the last word, lips curving upwards ever so slightly. “Are you happy?” 

“Yes,” 

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste. Still, I’m not here to rock the boat. Your brother wishes to pass on a message. He’s throwing a party a few days before Thanksgiving to celebrate half of the family being reunited. Anna is coming, along with a bunch of cousins you’ve probably forgotten you have.” 

“You flew here to inform me about a party.” 

“And to attend the party,” Balthazar continues, “You know how I like Gabriel’s parties.” 

“I’m not going.” 

“Really Cassie,” Balthazar says, tipping back most of his drink in one smooth motion, “I understand that you’re upset about the deception, but it was a necessity. The wounded act is getting old. I dislike having to rely on Gabriel for updates about your welfare – it’s not the direction I prefer to work in. I was concerned.” 

“You _lied_ to me, Balthazar. You stabbed me in the back.” Dean’s pretty sure he’d be quaking, at least a little, at the concentrated anger in Castiel’s stare. Balthazar just meets it head on and stands up. 

“Get over yourself, Cassie.” 

Dean doesn’t know what in God’s name possesses him, but he winds up cutting across Cas’ anger and Balthazar’s intended dramatic exit, and actually contributing towards the conversation. 

“You still gonna be around come Thanksgiving?” Balthazar turns slowly and looks at him like he’s suddenly become interesting. “Anna and Gabe are joining our thing… if you wanted to crash the party.” 

It’s probably just because Dean has some sympathy with a guy who flies half away across the country under the rouse of a party because someone is refusing to answer the phone, or because Dean’s realised that he _needs_ Charlie and Benny else or he’d go crazy, or because Balthazar obviously cares. They’re interactions are sort of fascinating, their history so obvious, and yet Dean’s not even the least bit jealous or concerned like he thought he would be. 

“Join _you_ for Thanksgiving?” 

“If you can stand slumming it,” Dean throws back, because he can’t exactly claim to like the guy. He’s snobbish and stuck up and sort of charming, but in a way that makes Dean feel like he needs to shower. 

“I suppose I could,” Balthazar says, sounding unsure as he glances between Dean and Cas. The intonation doesn’t suit his voice. “If Castiel wants me around.” 

“You don’t have to do this, Dean,” Cas says, turning to face him. 

“Cas, douchebag that he is, this guy also happens to be your best friend.” 

“That is one of the highlights of my resume,” Balthazar says, smiling slightly, “Well, what do you say, Cassie? Will you have me?” 

“Fine,” Cas concedes, frowning. 

“And will you be joining us, darling?” Balthazar asks, turning his attention back to Jo, who’s staring at Dean looking slightly dumbfounded because, holy shit, it looks like Dean was actually the bigger person for once. And because he just pulled a total crazy and invited Castiel’s ex for dinner when he already has Anna, who kinda hit on him, and Gabriel to contend with. It’s going to be nothing short of awkward and hellish, but then Dean had gotten kind of hung up about the whole Thanksgiving thing to the point that Ellen had intervened and offered to invite everyone. 

Not Balthazar, obviously, but Cas and his family. 

Jo glares at Balthazar and raises a single, dangerous eyebrow. 

“Well, maybe another day,” Balthazar says, “I’m going back to the hotel, Cassie. Call me when you’ve dislodged your head from your anus.” 

“You gotta admit,” Ash says, from the direction of the snooker table, “Dudes got style. I think I like him.” 

Cas reaches forwards and kisses him in front of everyone. 

He doesn’t even mind. 

* 

Cas gets back from his frigging dinner date with Balthazar looking more at ease than Dean’s seen him in weeks. 

Dean’s been irritable for most of the evening and almost regrets pushing Cas into making up with Balthazar, but he said he wouldn’t make Cas lose Balthazar and he meant it. He’s probably going beyond the call of duty by pushing him into forgiving him for the whole intense-betrayal bullshit, but he figures it makes up for being an asshole about it when it first came up. 

Even if he was sort of justified. 

“Good time?” 

“Yes,” Castiel says, leaning forward to cup Dean’s face and pull him into a kiss. Dean’s sorting out their finances at the table (and he’s pretty sure Pam’s tricked him into another pay rise and the money is starting to build up again, so he might be able to wrangle a decent Christmas for him and Sam this year after all), but is totally a-okay with the distraction of Cas. 

Dean pulls him down onto the chair with him and untucks his shirt so he can get to some skin. 

“Hmm. Maybe I’ll send you out with Balthazar more often.” 

“We should go on a date,” Cas says, and Dean stills slightly. “We’ve never done that.” 

“Kind of hard to fit date night on the calendar, Cas,” 

“I’m aware,” Cas says, and kisses him again. “I would like to, if we are able.” 

“Yeah,” Dean swallows, “Same.” 

He hadn’t thought about it much before, but it does sound good. Seeing Cas somewhere that isn’t work or either of their apartments would be kind of awesome. He’d have to work out a way of justifying spending the money to himself, but it’s not out of the question. They could totally go on a date. It would probably be kind of awesome. 

“Dean, about the money Anna gave me…” 

“Cas,” Dean says, swallowing, “Don’t ask me about that.” 

“Why?” 

“Because,” Dean sighs, breathes, “Because for you its blood money, I get that. And you know what I’m gonna say and you’re not gonna like it, because I’d take blood money in an instance. I’ve probably fed Sam with dirtier money and I just… man, I haven’t had the luxury of having principles. What Michael did was fucking awful… but if I got that kind of break I could send Sam to college. I’m… I’m too poor to have morals about money.” 

“You think I should keep it,” Cas says, slowly. 

“I… not exactly, man, because I know full well that you think you should give it away or refuse to accept it. But you… you’ve never been the kind of desperate that we’ve been, Cas. Money is security. I’m coming at this at a totally different angle and… maybe, you’ll be fine if you give it away but… what if you’re not? I just, I don’t wanna tell you what to do here.” 

“I’ll think about it,” Cas says, and then he kisses him again, “Is Sam out?” 

“Nah, he’s in his room,” Dean says, then realises Cas probably assumed he was because Dean is letting, or more half-instigated, Cas basically sitting on his lap and Dean usually cuts across any of Cas’ attempts at affection when Sam, or anyone really, could potentially walk in. “You staying tonight?” 

“That was my intention.” 

“Wanna watch a movie?” Dean asks, “Pick one out and I’ll join you when I’ve finished up.” 

Cas nods and puts on Die Hard a couple of minutes later, probably for Dean’s benefit. Dean finishes sifting through receipts twenty minutes later and lets Cas pull him under his arm. Sam comes to join them later when he hears the buzz of the TV and Dean lets him even though it’s a school night and it’s sort of late. Dean doesn’t even bother extracting himself from the weight of Cas’ arm, Sam doesn’t comment on it and, for once, everything is just about perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about how long it took to update this! Long story short, I was struggling with Balthazar, basically because me & my journalist friend went to a supernatural con in a journalistic capacity (which was inccreeddibllee), which meant we got to interview a couple of the guys/hang around backstage/go wherever we wanted to.... And Sebastian Roche approached us backstage and told my friend that it was a 'nice dress she was almost wearing' and then later retold this story to a larger group of people, not realising he was talking about people who were currently there. To me, he was so like supernatural-Balthazar and it was really quite strange and I think by the end he thought we were stalking him (we really _really_ weren't but it looked like we were following him around and we never got round to telling him we were journalists). And apparantly I find it very difficult to write a character who's given me a hug in real life?
> 
> So instead of pushing through I accidentally wrote a whole other destiel novel in the intermittent time? The next two chapters are written, though, so they should be up pretty speedily :)
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me (if anyone has) :)


	36. Chapter 36

_Ur coming over tonight after RH shift._

It takes Cas about two minutes to respond, which probably means Cas has either _finally_ finished the essay he’s been stressing over for the past week, or he’s given up totally. Given it’s Cas, he’s probably just finished it… but the guys been in a snit about this essay for the better part of a fortnight (apparently Dean isn’t helpful), whilst trying to squeeze in the required hours of his last weeks’ notice at the Roadhouse. Honestly, Ellen probably wouldn’t have cared if Cas hadn’t shown up, but that is ‘not the point, Dean.’ 

_My shift finishes two hours before yours, Dean._

A few kids who were also doing ultra-geeky extra circulars after school are emerging from the building, but Sam always takes his sweet time leaving. Maybe he should have ignored Sam’s fit about the environment or whatever else he was chatting on about when Dean agreed to pick him up from school after his meeting with Sam’s teacher. He texts Cas back. 

_But you love me ;)_

_I don’t want to leave my car at the Roadhouse overnight._

_I’ll pick you up._

_Your shift starts two hours after mine._

_Guess I love you back, then._

The openly affectionate thing doesn’t bother him quite as much as it used to, but mostly he’s just missed Cas. The past few weeks Cas has been so far up his essays’ ass that Dean feels like he hasn’t seen the guy, actually seen the guy, since Cas mentioned an upcoming deadline. He has the sort of laser focus that blocks everything else out for a little while and whilst Dean’s pushing in at the peripheries, it’s still frustrating. 

_You’re in a very good mood._ Cas sends, then almost immediately _I take it meeting with Sam’s teacher went well?_

Dean’s practically beaming as he texts back, dropping his phone into his lap to crane his neck to see if Sam’s emerged yet. He hasn’t, which is probably to be expected, because Sam is a massive geek who’s been officially dating Jess for like a _week_ (according to Sam’s teacher anyway) and he hasn’t told Dean about it yet. He’d be offended, but Sam’s teacher’s description of Sam awkwardly waiting for Jess at the end of the class is just too funny and, well, he feels pretty damn good right now. 

_Totally called it about Jess. Dunno why Sam didn’t tell me._

Dean finally spots Sam heading out of the building. He’s in the middle of a group. Maybe not the group Dean would have picked when he was in high school, but now that he knows a little of Becky and Ava and Andy he can confirm that Sam probably has better tasted than Dean did at his age. Jess is with them too, and Dean’s fucking _thrilled_ and amused to note that they’re holding hands. 

She’s _so_ far out of Sam’s league it’s hilarious, because she’s whip smart and funny and he’s pretty sure her family are rocking the white picket fence, but then again his little brother is god damn awesome. She’s been over a few times for their science project (particularly over the Christmas break), which Sam has been overly invested in even for him, and once or twice with Ava and Becky and the rest, and Dean reckons they’ll probably be good together. 

When they get within hearing distance, he beeps his horn. He gets a few seconds of the dear in the headlights look that Sammy gets sometimes, before he flushes, drops Jess’ hand and hurries over. 

“Dean,” 

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean grins, raising his eyebrows. “Anything you wanna tell me?” Sam’s distance tactic doesn’t really work, because, much to Dean’s amusement, Sam’s friends think that Dean’s the shit. Becky is following him over immediately and talking, lightning fast, about something, whilst Jess offers a ‘hey Dean’ and Andy waves. 

“Let’s go,” Sam mutters, still slightly pink. 

“How’s it going, Jess?” 

“Dean,” Sam says. 

“You coming over at some point?” Dean asks. 

“I should think so,” Jess says, folding her arms, “I’m waiting for an invite.” 

Dean laughs and Sam huffs and eventually gets rid of all his friends, mumbling to Jess that he’ll text her, before he crawls into the Impala and sends Dean a look. 

Dean’s phone goes off when they hit the main road out of town and he’s half way to picking it up and reading it when Sam tells him off for texting and driving. “Fine,” Dean grumbles, because the guy has a point, “Who’s it from?” 

“Cas,” Sam says, picking up the phone. 

“What’s he say?” Dean asks, turning to look at him. Sam looks somewhat reluctant to actually read the message, which is fair enough. They’ve still managed to avoid any actual instances of indecent exposure, but there’s certainly been more near misses in recent times. “Its PG rated, I swear.” 

Cas can’t sext to save his life. They wrote that avenue of communication off an age ago. 

“He says I probably didn’t tell you because I knew you’d be embarrassing,” Sam says, “He also says not to embarrass me. And that he didn’t realise teachers called meeting to discuss their pupils’ love lives. Was the meeting okay, anyway?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, turning left, “yeah, we were just talking about…” Dean nearly swerves, and slows down dramatically, swearing. “God damn, I told your teacher I had a boyfriend.” 

“Yeah?” Sam asks. 

“I _don’t.”_

“You have Cas,” Sam says, looking at Dean as if he’s grown an extra head. Dean glances away and back to the road, grip on the steering wheel tightening. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “but he’s not my frigging _boyfriend._ Sammy, get off my phone. What are you doing?” 

“I’m texting Cas,” 

“Saying what?” 

“ _Dean says you’re not his boyfriend.”_ Sam says, sending it off with a triumphant look, “You know, Dean, there’s nothing wrong with having a boyfriend.” 

“No, there aint,” Dean agrees, “but that doesn’t mean I have one.” 

“You kinda do, though.” 

“What’s Cas say?” Dean asks, glancing at the phone. He hasn’t specifically talked about his mild phobia of the boyfriend word to Cas and was just going to go with _not_ using it ever. Sammy bursts out laughing. “What’s he say?” 

“He says that you’re an idiot, basically.” 

“Sammy,” 

“That he suspects you rejected all relationship words from your vernacular and that it’s easier not to argue. Also, that I shouldn’t feel the need to defend his honour, because you’ve embraced the concept if not the corresponding labelling.” 

“Frigging nerds,” Dean mutters, “If he’s sending stupidly long texts his probably finished his essay. Can you check?” Sam’s staring at him. “What?” 

“Nothing,” Sam says, but he’s grinning and not meeting his eye as he fires another text off to Castiel. 

“What, Sam?” 

“You can tell when he’s finished his essay by the length of his text messages,” Sam says, trying very hard not to grin, “Wow.” 

“Shut up,” Dean says. 

“I’m not saying anything,” Sam says, still beaming out the front window. “He says he finished it a couple of hours ago.” 

“Awesome,” Dean says, glancing at the road behind him before making a U turn, “Tell him to put his trench coat on, cause we’re picking him up in five. We’re gonna get dinner.” 

“He might have already ate,” 

“Nah,” Dean counters, “he always forgets to eat when he’s stressing about essays.” 

Sam’s beaming again, so Dean turns the music up to drown out his brother’s amusement. 

* 

“Hello Dean,” Cas says, sliding into the backseat, a few moments after Dean pulled outside the guy’s apartment building. Cas has stayed over once in the past week and then he was working on this god damn assignment until three, and given Dean had work at eight it didn’t leave much time for socialising (and after which they decided to just _not_ until Cas had finished his essay). Since Jo decided to try her hand at independence and took off on a Road Trip that got Dean well and truly in the crapper with Ellen (apparently, he shouldn’t have helped), and Cas only has one week at the Roadhouse before he starts at the coffee shop he’d been spending most of his money in for the past year, Ellen doesn’t have the flexibility available to match their shifts up. As a result, it’s been a pretty crappy few weeks for getting valuable Cas hours in. Cas will probably be slightly better at making coffee than pulling pints, though, and he’s sure that the slight growing tension between Cas and Ellen will disappear when he’s no longer her worst employee. It was a good move. “Hello, Sam,” Cas adds. 

“Who’s hungry?” Dean asks, pulling himself out of Cas’ gaze and pulling back onto the road. They’re not too far off his intended restaurant destination; a type of place where they serve steak-burgers and the kind of green stuff that Sam likes (and Cas likes too, which is a bit of a blow), so everyone’s always happy. It is more expensive than their usual haunts, but it’s also within walking distance of their apartment, which means he doesn’t have to drop Sam off before he drives him and Cas to the Roadhouse. 

“Starving,” Cas says, shoulders hunched slightly in his trench coat. It’s really not the weather for it, but the damn thing is like a second skin. He’s got ink smudged over his eyebrow. 

Sam is talking to Cas about his essay and his day at school whilst Dean focuses on the road, because, damn, today really is a good day. Sam and Cas are legitimate friends of their own right and his little brother has a kick ass girlfriend, and Cas has done his essay, and everything might just work out. 

“We only come here when we’re celebrating,” Sam says, “What gives?” 

“Go get us a table for three, Sammy,” Dean says, catching Cas’ eye in the mirror. And god damn it, but he’s missed Cas. 

“What –?” 

“We’ll catch up in five,” Dean says, letting himself be caught up in one of those stares just because he’s allowed, and because he likes it. Outside the line of vision to Cas, Sam is rolling his eyes and muttering something derisive about Dean, but he heads inside anyway. “You have ink on your forehead,” Dean says, when they’re alone. 

“I know,” Cas says, and the deadpan is enough to tug the corners of his lips upwards. He slides out the car and Cas has the good sense to follow him out, giving him the chance to finally back him up against the impala. 

“Hey,” Dean grins, and reaches out to try and rub away the ink with his thumb. His success is minimal and eventually he gives up in favour of necking against the Impala because, hey, it’s been a while. Cas tastes of cheap coffee and buries his hands under Dean’s leather jacket in an attempt to keep them warm. “Missed you, Angel.” 

They join Sam a few minutes later. 

“What’s the deal?” Sam asks, when Dean sits down with Cas in tow. They’re slightly ruffled but not indecently, and Dean has precisely zero regrets about sending Sam inside alone so he can actually get his mouth on Castiel for the first time this week. Damn, but their schedules suck ass. 

For the first time, he’s actually glad it’s his birthday next week and that Sam, Cas, Pam and Ellen clubbed together to force him to take a day off for it, because he gets to demand birthday sex and pretend to be moody about everyone buying presents. 

“Both my favourite nerds done good,” Dean grins, “Cas has finished his essay, so he can quit neglecting me.” 

“You know, it’s not really neglect if he’s not your boyfriend,” Sam says. Dean looks to Cas for strength, but apparently even though Cas is totally cool with Dean’s aversion to the word, he isn’t about to help him out in that argument. “What do you say he is to Benny and your college friends, now you actually have _friends.”_

“I say he’s Cas.” 

“Yeah,” Sam says, “but what if Benny thinks he’s your girlfriend or something.” 

“I should hope not,” Dean snorts, “considering they’ve met.” 

“When?” 

“When Cas meets me after the gym, okay?” 

“Dean, you’re so frigging cute.” 

“I ain’t _cute.”_

“I read your texts,” Sam grins, “you’re _adorable.”_

He’s pretty weirded out by that, because it means that his brother knows he does the I love you thing with Cas. Not like often or in romantic moments or in great declarations of feeling, but at the end of punch lines and in the middle of a sarcastic comment. They never have sappy conversations where they exchange them, but he does say it. He means it, too. 

“Cas,” Dean complains, “back me up.” 

“You’re the embodiment of manliness,” Cas drawls, entirely sarcastically, as the waitress came to take the drink orders. 

“Why were you telling my teacher about your boyfriend, anyway?” Sam asks. 

“He’s not my boyfriend.” 

“Hey,” Sam says, “that’s what you told her.” 

“I didn’t _mean_ to, damnit.” 

“Does she have a problem with it or something?” Sam asks, looking like he’s about to leave the restaurant, nick his car and drive straight back to school to tell Claire Simpson exactly what he thinks of her opinions. 

“Hold fire Sam, no. We were talking about getting your ass to college.” Sam’s expression shifts over to eager almost instantaneously, which fuels the light sensation that’s been flooding him since he left the office. It’s all gonna work out this time. He can feel it. “She’s got our whole history in her little file and she said she figured I didn’t know all that much about college applications.” 

“Dean, you –“ 

“She’s right, Sam,” Dean interrupts, before Sam can rush to defend his honour, “She wants to support me to support you during the application process, or something.” 

“So, she thinks I should apply?” 

“She practically insisted on it,” Dean grins, “Said you’re exceptionally gifted, especially given your jaded past, and that you have a kick ass big brother.” 

“Did she mention your financial situation?” Cas asks. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “and she reckons, given everything, you’ve got a really good shot at a full ride.” 

Sam looks like he’s about to faint with excitement. 

“But, if I don’t –” 

“– talked about that, too,” Dean says, “And I’m pretty sure it’s about doable. Stanford ain’t exactly cheap, but even if something does come up, there’s loans and stuff.” 

“Stanford?” Sam breathes. 

“That’s what you want, right?” Sammy’s nodding. “Well, that’s where you’re going, then.” 

“It’s… it’s a long way away,” Sam says.

“I’m not staying in Lawrence forever,” Dean shrugs, “It’s still an age away, anyway, Claire just wanted to talk through you’re options and the processes and shit.” 

“Claire?” 

“Miss Simpson,” Dean says, waving this away, “She likes you a lot.” 

“Seems like she likes you, too.” 

“Said I was the most dedicated parent she’d seen in her office today, and that she could imagine I’d make good money in tips,” Dean grins. Sam makes a face. “Don’t worry, Sam, not about to start dating your teacher. Told her I had a boyfriend.” 

“You just admitted it again,” Cas says, lightly, as the drinks arrived. 

“Fucking _damn it,”_ Dean mutters, “You gotta reign on my parade, Cas. I’m gonna go back to Sammy’s school and screw his teacher.” 

“You did that once,” Sam says, bitch face reappearing. 

“Yeah, well, parent’s evening is fucking boring. Especially when every single damn teacher tells me you’re a really brilliant student, considering. It got old way before you hit high school. Point is, Miss Simpson wants to meet every month or whatever to talk about your bright shiny future. Cas, you wanna come next time? As the person who’s gonna be reading over Sam’s admission essays.” 

“You don’t have to,” Sam said quickly, “it’ll probably be really boring…” 

“Of course I will, Sam,” Cas says, “I don’t know whether I’d be allowed to accompany you, Dean.” 

“Well, I’m Sam’s guardian and you’re my…” 

“Boyfriend,” Sam supplies, “the word you’re looking for is _boyfriend.”_

“Well,” Dean says, uncomfortably, “parents are always bringing their new… you know, new husbands and wives and –” 

“– boyfriends,” Sam buts in. 

“I swear, Sam…” Dean mutters, “Point is, you can come if I say you can come.” Sam still looks a little too satisfied and overly happy about seeing the two of them together… and it’s his right as big brother to make him embarrassed where possible. “And you know how I like it when you come.” 

Sam nearly chokes. 

“Dean.” 

“Well quit it with the boyfriend talk!” 

“You’re gross,” Sam says, standing up, “I’m going to the loo. If they come for my order…” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “the chicken salad with extra girl dressing.” 

“Just because you’re off girls,” Sam says. 

Cas laughs outright and Dean can feel his face twisting into a grin despite his desire to be pissed off. 

“Bitch,” 

“Jerk,” Sam says, heading to the bathroom with a grin. 

“You said there was something you wanted to discuss before Sam’s meeting,” Cas says, raising a slight eyebrow at him. He didn't say there was something he wanted to discuss. He said he had news, but that's a side story to the Sam show and can wait until Sam gets back.

Anyway, that leaves the two of them alone, which, other than the five minutes outside in the parking lot, they haven’t really managed to do for over a week thanks to Cas’ reported essay from hell and Dean picking up extra shifts to compensate (he’s allowed to bend the rules sometimes, now that everyone’s stopped paying so much attention and chilled out a bit about his schedule; apparently, Dean’s not so much of a point as concern as he used to be). Cas has that look like he wants to kiss him, and with that look Dean kind of wants to let him, but then the waitress shows up and catches them staring at each other. 

“I believe the good lady wants to take our order,” Dean says, but he gives Cas’ thigh a slight squeeze. Cas migrates towards him slightly. He only does that when he’s really tired, though, so Dean's beginning to backtrack and think maybe he was selfish insisting he come over later. 

They order food and then Dean turns back to Cas, eyes tracing over the slight downturn of his lips and the slump of his shoulders which means Cas is exhausted. Damn. 

“Dean,” Cas says, “My landlady called. She wants to know whether I wish to renew the leash.” 

“Uh,” Dean says, “Sign for one more month,” 

It’s been quite a long time. Things are good. He misses Cas when he has essays and crap. 

Cas looks at him. 

“Maybe you could bring some more stuff over,” Dean continues, slowly, “and stay for more than just a couple of nights, see how it works out.” 

Cas kisses him soundly. 

“Uh, hey,” Sam says, coughing to announce his presence then sitting down opposite him. He doesn’t _really_ mind, because Sam has been championing their relationship from the very beginning, but Dean flushes slightly anyway. 

“Got offered a job today,” Dean says, mostly as a distraction tactic, but also because it’s pretty pertinent information that had been his first topic of intended conversation before his meeting with Claire Simpson and all the stuff about Sam going to college. 

“What?” Sam asks, frowning, “Dean, you already have _three_. What are you gonna do? Cut out sleep? Again?” 

“Chill, Sam,” Dean returns, rolling his eyes, “Don’t know if I’m even gonna take it, but it’s…. damn, it’s the kind of job that people can frigging _live off_. Like, in a single job capacity.” 

“Seriously?” Sam asks. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, smile pulling at the corner of his lips, “Apparently, Victor Henricksen likes me.” 

“The head of the gym?” Castiel asks, frowning. He’s also the guy who regularly kicks his ass, in a good way, but Dean’s getting better. He’s damned good, actually, and it _feels_ good to be back on form again. 

“Well, and Benny put in a good word before he jumped ship. I’d be a kind of personal trainer but without the qualifications. It’s good money. Part time, course, cause with tips and Pam’s pity-promotions it doesn’t quite compete with diner work but…. Yeah.”

“Dude, that’s brilliant,” Sam grins. 

“Need to do some calculations, but could drop the Roadhouse and cut down my hours at Pam’s to just a couple of days a week.” Dean says, trying hard not to let on how goddamn _excited_ he is about the prospect of not having to work until three AM anymore. It’s awkward timing for Ellen, given she’s just lost both Cas and Jo as employees, but he’s pretty sure if he so much as mentioned it to him she’d sack him on the spot. Anyway, he won’t enjoy working at the Roadhouse nearly as much when Cas stops. He already really misses Jo like crazy.

Cas will be working days at the coffee place. If Dean can get his evenings free, they might actually be able to _see_ each other on a regular basis. He’ll be able to hang out with Sam. Hell, he’d even have time to do college work.

_And_ this is like, work that’s a little more skilled than flirting for tips and pulling pints (not that that isn’t skilled, because Cas has proven time and time again that bartending requires more skill than Dean ever ascribed to it). This is basically making money out of something that Dean actually likes and actually does anyway which is… astounding. 

Cas smiles at him and Sam is beaming when their food arrives and Dean has to make a dumb joke so they stop focusing on him and his life for a minute, but things are working out. Everything is going to be fine. He’s not waiting for the shoe to drop. 

* 

“And add a double shot cappuccino for my man to the bill,” Dean says when the waitress finally comes to take away their plates, “And don’t say I don’t look after you, Cas.” 

“Caffeine stays in the blood stream for twelve hours,” Sam says, frowning at him. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “and it’s nine hours till I finish my shift, forty minutes home, and two hours twenty minutes loud sex to punish you for being a smart ass.” 

“What time will it be then?” Cas asks, looking slightly miserable. 

“Six AM,” Dean grins, “Then I’m in the diner at nine. I reckon I can swing you a free breakfast, if you want? Then you’ll be right by college, anyway.” 

He’s pushing the schedule thing right just now because he’s taking time off next week for his birthday and maybe saving up time off for a long weekend off, and because Ellen is a couple of men down. If he takes the new job, though, they’ll be no late nights clashing with early mornings. He can guiltlessly sleep. 

“Dean,” Cas says, brightening up as the waitress brings the coffee to go, “I don’t understand how you’re still walking.” 

“Caffeine stays in the blood stream for twelve hours,” Dean says, pulling the tip money out of his wallet, “I finish at five and I got the evening off. We should do something.” 

“I’m planning to sleep,” Cas mutters into his coffee. 

“You’ll be fine,” Dean says, “I wanted to look into getting Sam a double bed, now he’s got a girlfriend and all,” 

“Dean,” Sam complains, blushing, “I don’t need a double… and, anyway, my bedroom won’t fit one.” 

“Well maybe we should move to somewhere which does.” 

“We can’t afford it,” Sam says, frowning. 

“I’ve thought of this novel way to save a third off rent.” 

“Half,” Cas corrects. 

“A third,” Dean counters, “and you need a proper desk, right Cas? To fit all your books and shit on, if there is a table big enough for that. Personally, I want a bigger kitchen.” 

“Wait,” Sam says, glancing between them, “wait, are you serious?” 

“I don’t know Cas, what do you reckon, are we serious?” 

“It’s hard to be serious when, by your definition, we’re not in a relationship.” 

“That, I never said,” Dean says, as Sam beams at him like a frigging idiot. Cas stifles his own smile in his coffee and Dean realises that he doesn’t feel tired anymore. 

The bone deep weariness he’s been carrying around for half of his life is gone. He’s hopeful. He’s actually looking forward to the damn future. Life doesn’t feel like it’s this big fight he’s just barely staying alive in. 

More, he doesn’t want to run away. He wants to stay in fucking Lawrence, Kansas, at least for the near future, with Sam and Cas and Charlie and Benny and Jo and Ellen and Bobby. He has people. He has stuff worth sticking around for. 

It’s good. 

It’s damned good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last proper chappie & just an epilogue to go :) :)


	37. Epilogue: Part One

Just over a week after they set off from Lawrence, Kansas, Dean pulls up the Impala outside a none-descript dorm block in Stanford, California and wonders how the hell they got there so fast. 

“I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Dean says, to cover up some of the cocktail of emotional crap that’s going on in his chest, and to continue the charade that this whole thing is some gung-ho holiday rather than _the_ single thing Dean’s dreaded most in the past decade. 

“We’re well over a thousand miles from Kansas, Dean,” Castiel says, frowning at him from the back seat. 

“Wizard of Oz,” Dean says, raising an eyebrow at him, “Tin man. Cowardly lion. Yellow brick road. Ringing any bells?” Cas’s expression remains stoic. “Nearly three years, dude. _Three years_ I’ve known you. How hasn’t this come up before?” 

“Is it customary to discuss wizards before entering into a relationship?” 

“Not wizards,” Dean says, opening his car door because they can’t just sit here in front of the dorm block forever and Sam, who’s been switching from uncontrollable excitement to deadly quiet for the last four hundred miles, is still frozen still on the passenger’s seat. “Singular. The _wizard._ ” 

“ _The_ wizard is a strong claim, Dean,” Cas says, following him out of the car. “What about Harry Potter? Gandalf?” 

“Dude,” Dean says, rolling his eyes, “He’s only _the_ wizard in Oz.” 

“I don’t know where that is,” Cas returns, but Dean catches the half smile and rolls his eyes because, popular references illiterate Cas may be, he’s not a total idiot and Dean’s better at working out when the guy is fucking with him than he used to be. He pauses to kiss Cas for being a dick and for picking up his line of conversation now Sam’s gone silent because, yeah, he appreciates it. 

Besides, Sam’s not the only one who’s been going through some serious mood swings since they started driving. Cas has been very tolerant of the pair of them, mostly letting all their bickering and petty arguments wash over his head. It’s good for them, actually, to have someone who’s not involved in the same way sat in the car. 

“Gross Dean,” Sam says, out the car and now in motion, determined expression all of his face. “Can’t you save the PDA stuff until _after_ I’m gone?” 

Sam probably means it a little bit, because brothers aren’t actually supposed to live with their brother and their other half, and Dean’s pretty sure the novelty of having Dean happy wore off at least a year ago. Any other day, he’d make a comment about Jess… but then she’s plenty far away, too, so that’s a sore topic. 

Dean grabs Cas’ ass and waggles his eyebrows at him to make a point. 

Sam rolls his eyes, squares his shoulders, grabs one his bags and heads to the stairs. 

* 

Sam’s dorm room is square and impersonal and Dean’s right back to thinking about crappy motel rooms and the two bed apartment they packed up into boxes back in Kansas. They both stand in the doorway, a shoulder width separating them, and Dean doesn’t know what the hell Sam’s thinking. 

“What’s this thing full of, rocks?” Dean complains to fill the silence, setting the box down on the floor and intending to leave to give Sam some space, as per Cas’ semi-regular suggestion over the past few months. Big changes. A lot to take in. Space. 

“Books, Dean,” Sam says, quiet. 

“Same difference,” Dean mutters, taking another look round his brother’s new home feeling slightly dubious. Sam should really have a cushy apartment with evidence of their lives lining every inch, not some generic college-dorm for the rest of the just-about-teens wanting to run away from their parents and start afresh. This whole thing is going to take some getting used to but, hell, he knew that a decade ago when the idea of Sam and college sent white-hot fear uncurling from his gut. Getting used to the idea is a step up from admitting defeat and falling apart. 

“Maybe you should try one sometime,” Sam says. 

Dean decides to fuck giving Sam space for a little while longer, because he’s giving the guy states’ worth of space as of today, so he’s just going to go ahead and invade Sam’s life a little while longer. 

“I’m not your legal guardian anymore,” Dean says, “You know what that means?” 

“What?” Sam asks, bitchface #2 reinstated because, yeah, maybe Dean’s been using this line a lot since Sam officially became an adult… but, hell, now he gets to quit being a parent and get back to being a _brother_ (an overprotective, overbearing, overly attached brother, sure, but the distinction is there). 

“I can beat your ass,” Dean grins, reaching out to knock Sam’s leg from under him. Sam grabs a handful of Dean’s shirt in return, punching his arm, till the whole thing tumbles into the type of sibling-esque grab battle that Dean has missed for years (because, yeah, you’re allowed to hit your brother… except when you’re his sole carer as that crossers a whole bunch of boundaries that the bitchy CPS lady had explained to him way back when). 

Somewhere behind them, Castiel has arrived with another of Sam’s bags, and is sending a pinched expression of resignation towards the ceiling. 

“Er… hi,” A new voice says, and Dean releases Sam from the headlock to glance up at the newcomer, “I’m your roommate?” 

Dean releases his brother, as much as he would love to bodily carry Sam back to the car and high tail it back to Kansas, and allows him to straighten up to his full, fairly impressive height. 

“Sam,” Sam says, switching temperaments all over again, practically falling over in an attempt to introduce himself. “And this is my brother, Dean, and his boyfriend, Castiel.” 

Dean grimaces at the word boyfriend but lets it fly, just this once, because it’s the quickest explanation. 

“Chuck,” the roommate says, “Chuck Shurley.” 

Dean wants to stay and grill the roommate, but Sam is already looking a little nervous and he knows he probably won’t help matters. Sam already has to do the both-parents-dead-one-when-I-was-a-baby-one-a-few-years-ago-essentially-bought-up-my-brother thing all over again, and it’s bad enough without the possibility of stumbling onto those conversation with Dean in earshot. 

“Come, Dean,” Cas says, grabbing his arm and pulling him to the door, “We’ll get some more of Sam’s belongings.” 

Space. Right. 

Cas is giving him a _‘no objections’_ look and Sam looks relieved. He’s not taking that as an insult, really he isn’t, although he’s completely going to embarrass Sam at the first opportunity – probably as soon as they’ve fetched the rest of his belongings back from the car. By the time thanksgiving comes around, Sam is going to have a whole new set of friends that haven’t heard the lucky-charms story. 

“Might as well get the plant, too,” Dean says, when they’re back at the car and Cas is sifting through the trunk for the rest of Sam’s stuff, “Chances are he’d notice it if I accidentally ran over it.” 

The plant was a present from Jess and Dean had laughed at him for twenty minutes straight when he came back from a date with a cactus. Jess insisted plants made a room feel homelier, which Dean thinks is hilarious because they have never had a plant in their apartment _ever._ Then again, their home is really a 67 Chevy Impala and not a sub-par apartment in Kansas, so it’s all relative, but he’s pretty sure he saw Sam getting slightly teary over the damnable thing when they were packing, and as a result Dean’s been absurdly careful to make sure it doesn’t get squashed. 

Cas wordlessly pushes into his personal space to kiss him, because this whole thing feels all kinds of surreal and uncomfortable. They stall a bit to give Sam his ‘space’ and for Cas to give him a silent pep talk, and when they go back upstairs Sam seems to be circumventing the family talk by telling Chuck what a great brother he is. 

Dean feels like his insides have been liquidised. 

Sam is fleeing their little egg nest and Dean has to let him this time. He has to trust that it’s not permanent, and that he’s not running _from_ Dean, but _to_ this bright future that he’s always dreamed of. 

Dean puts the plant on top of the fridge. 

Sam glares at him and takes it down. 

Dean remembers the days when Sam was the short one. 

“Really makes a difference,” Dean drawls, smirking at the plant pot, “There’s no place like home,” Dean says, grinning at Sammy’s pissed off expression. 

“For the record, Cas, that’s another Wizard of Oz reference,” 

Cas nods and narrows his eyes at the cactus like he’s feeling contemplative and, God help them, because if Cas is starting to get emotional about this then they’re all royally screwed. 

“I’ll get the rest of the belongings,” Cas finally says, holding out a hand for the car keys. Dean’s slightly reluctant, but drops them into his hand anyway. Castiel frowns at him. “How many more years till I’m permitted to drive ‘baby’ Dean?” 

“Decade, maybe,” Dean returns, “quicker if you drop the air quotes, dick.” 

“One day,” Sam grins, “Cas is going to put his foot down,” 

“That’s the problem,” Dean says, “Ain’t no one over-revving my baby.” 

Cas is giving _them_ space, this time, but Dean doesn’t know how to fill it, so he clears his throat and starts re-cleaning Sam’s room, because he sure as hell doesn’t trust anyone else to have done it properly and he’s heard stories about the kind of crap that goes down in these rooms. 

* 

The roommate is back from wherever he disappeared to and Castiel has just finished alphabetising Sam’s extensive selection of books (how he ended up with such a geek he’s really not sure), whilst Sam explains their slightly indirect route to Stanford via a few choice destinations in Nebraska and Wyoming. 

“We used to move around a lot when we were kids,” Sam says, “So Dean wanted to try and remind me of the glory of cheap motels and diner food, before teaching Cas the ways of the road.” 

“We’re going on a road trip,” Cas fills. 

“Hells yeah,” Dean grins, “We gonna go hit up a den of inequity then copulate in a skanky motel, right Cas? And Cas _really_ wants to see the world’s largest ball of twine.” 

“I don’t,” Cas deadpans. 

“It’s not that big,” Sam says, almost on automatic. 

Chuck Shurley is looking back and forth from their little family unit like he’s not really sure what to make of them, but he seems like a nice guy and not at all like he’s going to murder Sam in his sleep. 

Dean bites back a ‘that’s what Jess said’ comment, only because its Sam’s first day of college (sort of; classes don’t start for a few days) and, by all rights, Sam should have his parents here embarrassing the crap out of him in front of his roommates by being lame. They long since worked out that Dean’s position as cool older brother guardian has some merits, even if it’s not really proper compensation, so he’s tempted to circumvent the embarrassing act and just let him be. 

Space. 

* 

Dean sticks up the single picture of them as a complete family up on Sam’s new bedroom wall, stepping back to glance at both his Mom and Dad. Sam is just _so tiny_ and if he hadn’t watched the progress from person-in-miniature to the giant that’s currently making awkward small talk in the corridor, he wouldn’t believe he was the same person. 

The next picture is one of him, Sammy and Dad at the Grand Canyon. 

There’s a couple of a younger Sam and him with Bobby and Ellen. In the recent ones, Cas sneaks into the photos; his favourite one if of the whole lot of them, Jo too, in Bobby’s front room just because no one is fake smiling. Cas is looking serious and slightly confused. Sam is building up to a bitch face. Bobby looks grumpy. Ellen and Jo look like they’re about to break out into an argument. Dean has his own creased, folded version in his wallet, but it looks good on Sam’s wall. 

There’s him, Sam, Jess and Cas, and him, Sam and Bobby, and him, Sam and Jo. A shot of Becky, Ava and Jess in their apartment where he’s lingering in the background doing washing up. Gabriel somehow made it into three of the photos. Anna made it into one. So did Balthazar’s middle finger. 

Dean’s in every single photo that Sam picked out and printed off. 

They’ve been through a lot, him and Sam, and seeing it documented out on Sam’s bedroom wall is sort of jarring. 

“Dean,” Cas says, voice low and deep behind him. Dean is trying not to get emotional about this, but then that was never going to happen in a million years... and, when they’ve finished unpacking, they’re driving away from here and Sam is staying and that’s incomprehensible. 

“Any other set of circumstances… Sam would hate me,” Dean says, as Cas’ fingers close around his hand. “He’d have ran here in the middle of the night. Cut me off. Or I’d be dead somewhere. I’d definitely be drunk. I dunno, man, I guess I’m just lucky.” 

“Few would call you lucky, Dean,” Cas says, “You’ve worked very hard through adverse circumstances.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “but it’s not like I did a good job most of the time. I just, you know, made it up and hoped for the best.” 

“Sam has a full ride at Stanford University, Dean,” 

Cas’ voice is probably just about as soothing as his words and Dean can’t get enough off _Sam has a full ride at Stanford University_ ; he’s been repeating it in his head and, right after they found out, he’d wake up beaming. Now, there’s a twist of longing and fear, too, because some days he’s not sure who he is if he’s not Sam’s guardian and meal ticket. 

“That’s because he’s damned smart.” 

“And because you pushed him, looked after him and protected him his whole life. You’re not the only one who’s lucky.” Cas says, and Dean knew full well he was going to say, he just wanted to hear it again. 

“Also totally gonna get lucky tonight,” Dean grins. 

Cas rolls his eyes towards the ceiling and squeezes his hand. 

* 

They’re supposed to be leaving and it’s the first time he and Sam have acknowledge that they’re supposed to be parting ways and everything feels off kilter. 

“You sure you don’t want us to stick around another night?” Dean asks, the worry starting to creep up through his limbs. It doesn’t matter that it’s been years since Sammy actually ran away from him, he can still feel the fear beginning to settle in his gut; he’s scared of not knowing where Sam is all the time, of not knowing his friends, of not being able to step in and sort stuff out when it goes wrong. 

“Helicopter,” Cas says, hand on his arm. 

Cas has been a lot more tactile since they left Kansas, falling into the habit of communicating with him wordlessly in front of Sam and reassuring him with a swipe of a thumb over Dean’s knuckles, knees touching under the table, a hand on his back. He’s needed the stability of Cas’ presence, solid as a rock, with everything else so fragile and new. 

“I am not a helicopter parent.” 

Sam laughs at that one and the sound makes Dean feel slightly better because Sam is going to be okay. More than that, Sam is going to be happy. 

“I’m fine, Dean,” He says, “I’ll call you, okay?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, his voice gruff all by accident, “and if you hate it, you just drop out. I’ll be here to come pick you up within a couple of days, okay?” 

“Dean –” 

“–And don’t get yourself into trouble, but don’t sit inside being a geek all the time, either. You gotta actually enjoy yourself at some point, Sam, and if you think about any of that larping crap I’m going to be right back here busting your ass for being such a nerd, okay?” 

“Okay, Dean,” Sam says, “I got it. I can take care of myself.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“I’ll call every couple of days,” Sam says. 

“For my sanity, I’m holding you to that, Sam,” Castiel interjects. 

“And I’ll Skype you,” Sam says. Dean makes a face. “Oh, come on, even Cas knows how to work Skype –” 

“– cause you corrupted him,” Dean complains, “with your nerd talks. God. And you better drop Bobby and Ellen a line, too, Sam, or they’ll be on my ass. Don’t drink anything stronger than Ellen’s moonshine. And don’t do drugs, Sam, they’re expensive and –” 

“– that’s it,” Sam says, finally, “I’m kicking you both out. You’re leaving. I’ll call you tomorrow. Which way are you headed?” 

“Who knows?” Dean asks, and he’s grinning even though at least part of him would like to cry, and at least part of him wants to superglue himself to the floor, and even though it goes against every instinct he has too. 

* 

Sam hugs him impossibly tight when he eventually leaves, a grocery shop and another meal together later, gripping his shoulder and muttering a _i’ll miss you, thank you Dean, you’re the best_ , and Dean’s emotionally fried enough that he can’t even manage a disparaging comment about chick flicks, instead choosing to squeeze Sam’s shoulder back and swallow. 

They sit outside in the impala for a good twenty minutes before Dean gets his shit together enough to drive. 

Cas waits out the silence without comment. 

* 

Three days hovering around the west coast and a day trip to San Francisco later, Dean accepts the fact that Sam probably isn’t going to call him in tears and ask him to take him back to Kansas. The regular text messages indicate that he’s already made a couple of friends, that his introductory classes were just fine and that he’s also probably not going to drop off the face of the earth and never talk to Dean again, so there’s that. 

Four days after dropping Sam off at college, they hit the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it turns out this epilogue wanted to be in two parts. Second part will be posted as soon as I can dig my laptop charger out my suitcase...


	38. Epilogue: Part Two

Cas is asleep in the front seat and looks so freaking adorable that Dean’s loathe to wake him up, but then again he took a hundred mile detour for this burger joint and Cas’ beauty sleep doesn’t really compare to how _beautiful_ the burgers in the place are. 

“Morning, Princess,” 

“How long did you drive for?” Castiel asks, his voice deeper and rougher from sleep. Castiel’s morning voice sort of does things to him, but there’s the promise of burgers in like half an hour so he casts that out of mind, at least for now. 

They no longer have Sam next door contend with. Sam isn’t the only one who gets space. 

(The familiar trip of guilt over being glad, just a little bit, that Sam isn’t here is a shadow of what it used to be, but it’s there.) 

“About six hours,” Dean says, “Up and at em, Cas, the burgers in this place will blow your mind.” 

“You should have stopped for a break,” Cas says, moody, as Dean texts Ellen their current location and his most up to date information from Sam, because Ellen is a helicopter parent if ever there was one and is definitely definitely worse than Dean. 

“I stopped for coffee whilst you were asleep,” Dean says, “And, anyway, it’s good to be back behind the wheel. Man, I can’t tell you how good this feels.” 

“I’m sure you will. Multiple times.” 

They’ve been driving for just shy of two weeks, at this point, so it’s not surprising Cas is tired of him lamenting how much he loves driving (and later complaining, just a bit, about his back and his shoulders and how everything hurts like he’s worked an eight hour waiting shift before heading to the Roadhouse), but this is mostly a just-woke-up Cas classic. 

Castiel’s still moody and sleepy when Dean orders them both the ‘freaking everything burger stack’ and flirts with the waitress, a bit, because last time he was here they ran out of pie and he really wants pie. Cas doesn’t even bother rolling his eyes like Sam has at several points on their journey to freaking Stanford, and Dean’s caught up in thinking about how aces Cas is for putting up with his bullshit and actually enjoying it, and how goddamn happy he is right now. 

He’s buzzing, slightly, warm excitement pooling in his veins and he feels goddamn _alive_. 

They’re going on an honest to God road trip. 

No juggling shifts. No flirting for tips. There’s no rent to pay, because everything they own is in the back of the Impala (or else with Bobby or Ellen; apparently, they’ve picked up a lot more crap since they lived out of a back of a car, and it’s not all Cas’ doing either), and there’s actual money in his bank account. He’s probably never going to have to deal with the CPS ever again. He gets to stow all his crap and put Lawrence in his rear view mirror for a while but, more to the point, he gets to show Cas this whole part of his life. 

Dean Winchester, orphaned, ex-guardian to his little brother on the road with his GED, his give ‘em hell attitude, his actual qualifications from the community college that he finally got, and his dorky graduate boyfriend. 

He gets _freedom_ again. Fuck responsibilities and bill juggling and goddamn tax returns (at least for a good few months), because he’s got a shit tonne of Metallica CDs and enough gas money to get them to Maine and back, if he wants. This time, Dean’s the one who gets to run away. And he’s got company. 

“What’s the plan?” Dean asks, eventually, because he’s aware that he’s just watching Cas stare moodily at the menu and thinking about how exhilarating it is to be indulging in a whim or several. It’s easier to openly be a sap without his family’s eyes watching, but it’s not actually all that productive. 

The future has been pressing in from all sides for months. He’s been joyfully handing in resignations, once again convincing Cas to sell his car and working out what Sam actually needs for college (Cas was sort of a great asset on that front, but at the same time Cas owns bed throws and fancy ass frying pans he’d never used before they assimilated kitchenware). 

They talked about the next few months, but they didn’t get much further than that, because there was always something else to pack. Besides, Dean had so much of his head full of Sam leaving that it was difficult to squeeze in the other stuff, particularly with every single damn person they know giving Dean looks like they’re expecting him to do something stupid. He reckons, if Cas hadn’t so willingly agreed to clog up the passenger seat, his family would think this was Dean Winchester’s great escape. He’s pretty sure the thought of them pulling a Thelma and Louise has crossed Ellen’s mind, at least, because the woman’s been damn persistent with her texting and calling… but then, Dean doesn’t have a great track record, really, and as much as his heads been in a better place for the past couple of years, he sort of gets her concern. Hell, he probably earnt it, so he’s been dutifully texting her back without ever acknowledging her overblown worry because that would involve talking about how close he got to falling down the rabbit hole. 

“We’re due back in Stanford for thanksgiving and Kansas for Christmas,” Cas answers, pinched frown in place, “I thought the plan before that was to spend the money Sam doesn’t need, thanks to his full ride.” 

Cas is covering his side of the deal with the bit of Anna’s bloody money he actually kept, but it took surprisingly little convincing for Dean to agree to dip a fair way into his Sam-savings. Sam’s at his goddamn dream school so, what the hell, Dean can waste some money on gas and motels under the guise of finding some kind of new direction. It keeps him up some nights, but then sometimes he figures that maybe he’s earned it. 

And what the hell else was he supposed to do? Cas is a bona fide graduate, Sam’s all the way in California and Dean wasn’t exactly keen on being _that_ far away in Lawrence, caught up in employment and rent paying to the point where he couldn’t abandon ship and get to Sam quick enough if needs be. Lawrence _has_ become home, between his family and his friends and Cas, but Benny’s in the wind and Charlie’s applying for PHD number two at a bunch of places scattered across America, and Cas was only really sticking around because Dean was. 

“Not all of it,” Dean says, “He still needs to buy books and go on vacation in spring break. Plus, he might need it for the next college thing.” 

“Of course, Dean. I thought we were heading to the giant ball of twine.” 

They’re not, of course they’re not, but it’s been a running joke for long enough that it makes Dean smile anyway. 

“Yeah, no, I know _that_ plan, I mean… Cas, you should be in grad school.” Dean says, because he’s not an idiot. Cas has been half looking for programs on their half-shared (but originally Castiel’s) laptop before shutting them down and hoping that Dean doesn’t notice. Dean got an expression of mild disinterest for all the graduate jobs he shoved under Cas’ nose, and the guy didn’t spent years studying to carry on working at the coffee shop. He can’t afford too, for one, because there are student loans and crap to be thinking about. Cas’ generally apathy towards graduate job hunting and Dean’s unwillingness to be so far away from Sam is most of the reason why they settled on hitting the road, because Dean’s been thinking wistfully of the highway since they got to Kansas, but that can’t be _permanent_. 

Besides, it figures that Cas is the kind of nerd that isn’t done learning yet, because bitching about essay deadlines aside, Cas still _loves_ studying. He reads academics for fun. Books in different languages. 

Cas glances up at him, not looking away when the waitress brings over the coffee Dean ordered for him whilst he was trying to wordlessly smite the menu. It’s generally a bad sign or a very good sign when Cas ignores coffee in favour of staring at him, especially in the few hours after he’s woken up. 

He looks _unsure_ and slightly wary, which isn’t really a surprise. Cas didn’t tell him about his half-formed plans for a reason, and it wasn’t because he’s planning on running away in the middle of the night to chase his dreams. It was the other thing, where Cas assumes no one’s going to take his needs or wants into account. It’s still annoying because, goddamn, of course Dean fucking cares about Cas’ nerdy dreams. The fact that Cas probably thinks Dean’s about to drop him off at the nearest town and tell him to hitchhike to the nearest college is really pissing him off, but whatever, they can talk about that at another point. 

“Cas, it’s what you want to do. That’s important, man. It’s important to me.” 

“We are road tripping,” 

“Yeah, right now we are,” Dean says, pulling out his Dad’s old leather journal. It still has his budget in the front, but the back is all Dean’s grand plan of the parts of America he’s taking Cas to see (and more than a few places that Cas added to the pile, because he’s jetted across a lot of America himself). Cas bought him a journal-sized map of America which, although practically fairly useless is better than the sat nav Charlie tried to talk him into, and works for the purposes of this. 

(He thinks his Mom would approve of the new use of the journal much more than she would have approved of the last, because it wasn’t just Sam that Mary Winchester wanted to be happy and protected. She’d have thought that Dean deserved to be happy just as much as Sam does. If she could see them both today she’d be damn proud. John probably would have been too). 

“Anna’s now in Denver,” Dean says, finger hovering vaguely over Colorado, “Gabriel’s in LA, Balthazar’s in frigging Vegas… Sam’s in Stanford, no idea where Charlie’s landed, but Ellen, Bobby and half our belongings are in Lawrence so I figured…” Dean pauses over the centre which is either Arizona or New Mexico depending on how you weight it, neither of which Dean’s spent any real amount of time in but, what the hell, “That there’s gotta be at least one halfway decent school somewhere about here.” 

Cas stares at him. 

“We ain’t following Sam to Stanford, but I don’t think he’d mind if… if when we settled, it was a bit closer than Lawrence.” 

“I wasn’t aware you wanted to settle,” 

“Well,” Dean says, “Road trips are six kinds of awesome, Cas, but I already kinda miss our DVD collection and the water pressure in our shower. And you’ve got crap you wanna do, Cas, and… I kinda like having an apartment and a nine till five.” 

“You’ve never had a nine to five job,” 

“Right,” Dean agrees, “but, between you and Sam and your nagging, I have qualifications and junk, so I could. We can’t just drive forever, Cas, we got a family and friends and stuff and, anyway, you don’t want to. Hell, I don’t even want to. We’re just… taking some time out to be like other twenty somethings, and then we’re gonna start life again.” 

“This _is_ life,” 

“Hell yeah it is,” Dean grins, “This is the adventure, man. This is getting to run away and be whoever the hell we want in whatever town we park up in, and sticking up a massive middle finger to the establishment. And we still have people to crawl back with when we’re done rambling. This is having it all, Cas. We fucking _made it_.” 

The corners of Cas’ lips tilt upwards slightly, a little of his moodiness slipping to give way to amusement. 

“I enjoy seeing you like this,” Cas says, voice deep and gravely and awesome. 

“I enjoy seeing you period, so suck it up dude,” Dean grins, “And this burger’s gonna make you about as happy as I am later, so quit whining about me waking you up. It’s worth it. Man, there are still so many states we haven’t fucked in.” 

Cas smirks slightly and reaches for his coffee, so at least some of the disaster has been averted. He stills after a sip though, and raises his gaze to meet Dean’s eye. 

“What are your plans for the future, Dean?” Cas asks, tilting his head slightly, and Dean’s right back to answering Cas’ same question eons ago, when all there was was battling through another week and surviving a little bit longer. He didn’t have hope. It’s damn terrifying, thinking about how exhausted he was of waking up every single day, and how he might have missed all of this if he’d taken a few different left turns. He’d be a couple of years short from his enlisting plan, working to the bone to try and clear most of Sam’s college debt before he cut himself out of his life… and, right now, Dean has a hell of a long list of things life is gonna give him before he hangs in the towel. 

And sometimes he’s scared that it’s gonna come back. One day he’ll wake up and they’ll be that familiar crushing weight on his chest and, with his lifelong purpose in a dorm room at Stanford, he won’t remember why he’s supposed to get up, and years of stumbling his way to peace and contentment will be unwritten. 

He has a lot more than he did back then. He likes to think he has better coping strategies. 

“I’m kinda easy,” Dean says, shrugging slightly, “The personal trainer stuff is a sweet gig. Find a garage that gets more business than the Salvage Yard. I don’t hate the shift managing deal. Something with people… I got options. That’s new,” He’s reaching out for Cas’ on automatic, rubbing a thumb over his hand without really dissecting the meaning. Being with Cas on the wide open road is easy, easier than it’s ever been before, and he fucking loves it. “I’m good, Cas. Feel better when Sam’s settled, sure, but he’s probably better at adapting than any other kid in the joint. He’ll be fine. I know that. Got you, got my car. Got _options_. I’m set for life.” 

Cas looks sort of dumbfounded for a moment, then reaches out and kisses him across the table; an awesome kiss with tongue and teeth and _gratitude_ and faith. It’s the sort of kiss that has a couple of eyeballs pointed their direction, but they’re here for the length of a meal so they can think whatever the hell they like about him and Cas. 

“Dean,” Cas mutters, voice gruff and low, “You have…exceeded my expectations.” 

“Great,” Dean smirks, “Do I get special badge for that? Maybe some more porn?” 

Cas doesn’t even frown like he normally does when Dean brings up the porn incident. 

(After a particularly bad argument over a thing Dean doesn’t want to think about, in which he’d wound up angsting to Sam about why he always had to forgive the stupid shit Cas did – ‘because It’s Cas’ – Cas had bought him apology beer, porn and pie. Dean had ended up so side tracked explaining why that wasn’t okay – ‘but you _like_ porn’ – that he’d completely forgotten about the argument at hand. For Dean, it accidentally became a good memory but Cas doesn’t share his sentiments). 

“You’ve thought about this a lot,” 

“Kinda of had to think about all this stuff,” Dean says, “What with Sam leaving. Everyone’s been saying I gotta get myself a life once Sam got his for years, so… figured we’d go get one together. If you want.” 

“I do want, Dean,” Cas says. 

Cas’ voice is full of promise, like he’s both talking about wanting their future and wanting Dean and wanting _everything_ because, why the hell shouldn’t he? Wanting isn’t just for rich kids at Ivy League colleges, or teenagers in small towns wanting to get away, or for beautiful people with dreams. Dean’s been broken and fucked up and a victim of his own faulty thinking, but he can still want. Still deserves to. Wanting isn’t just for Sam with his future and his happiness. They can have that too. 

Deans slides over the keys to the Impala. 

Cas dutifully pretends like that isn’t a big deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An ending! Aha!
> 
> This was the first Supernatural fic I started (so don't ask me how I started and finished four more whilst working on this one) and it's take a long while, and wound up a lot longer than expected and wandered very far off my original plan.... but, yes, I just really wanted to explore some of the issues that Dean/Cas have in canon and I wanted to write about being stuck in a rut and how detangling yourself from that rut is a realllly long process & about how all these issues take route and.... just, yeah, I really loved writing this and thanks to anyone who's been reading. You're awesome. Thank you.
> 
> (And Happy New Year for Friday!)


End file.
